


Caffeine, Strings, and Other Impossible Things

by omnenomnom



Series: Caffeine, Strings, and Other Impossible Things [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Ballet, And Now For Something Completely Different, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ballet, Complete, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Juilliard School, Music, Prepare to Feel, Romance, Sarcasm, Snark, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Violins, artsy fartsy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:14:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 42,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27285505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omnenomnom/pseuds/omnenomnom
Summary: Hermione has only ever loved ballet. She earned her way into Juilliard through sweat and dedication. The Weasley twins are musical prodigies, dropping out to peruse a career as Rockstars. But when Hermione finds a locked out Fred Weasley playing on a ratty fire escape, it starts something she would have never expected. New York City is a place of unpredictable miracles and shattered dreams. Who is to say which one is which?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Fred Weasley
Series: Caffeine, Strings, and Other Impossible Things [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1997851
Comments: 159
Kudos: 176





	1. It's Alway's Once Upon a Time in New York City

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, welcome to my first published Fremione.
> 
> Story is finished, just going through edits. Expect weekly updates.
> 
> This is and AU in New York City focused around music, ballet, and angsty arty goodness. Please note I know nothing about ballet or music but my lovely beta does so hopefully we catch anything. Musically terms and references will be in the notes section.
> 
> There is also a prequel of sorts posted under the name Dancing, Dreams, and the Beginning of Things from Fred's POV prior to this story. I personally think it is better after reading this but it is your choice.
> 
> A special thanks to:  
> Danny, my resident New Yorker who has no idea why I am asking him so many questions.  
> My Beta PrettiestStar17 who cleaned up this angsty dreck mistakes.

“This is not a skim flat white Granger.”

“You’re right. It’s donkey’s milk. I found it fitting… You know. Since you are an ass.” Hermione took great pleasure in the way Malfoy scowled at her.

“You’re trying to get me too fat to perform.”

“No need, your addiction to shitty take out is doing that for me.”

“This is why scholarship students shouldn’t be allowed. Mingling with the layman makes you bitter and slow.” Malfoy scowled from across the counter even as he sipped at his drink. It was, of course, a perfect skim flat white, even if he couldn’t admit it. Her ethics would never allow her to make anything less than perfect, even for him.

“There are plenty of other coffee shops in New York,” she said. “Go to one of those and leave me in peace.”

“They all have shitty beans. It’s un-fucking-drinkable.”

Hermione paused, glaring at the blonde before shouting over her shoulder to her boss in the back.

“Tonks!”

“Yeah?” came the answering reply through the door.

“We need to switch beans to whatever the Beanhive uses.”

“Why? Their coffee sucks.”

“Yeah but Malfoy says he will leave us alone if we have worse beans.”

Both she and her patron stared at the door. After a moment Tonks popped her bright green head out with a placid smile on her face.

“I’ll put in an order today.”

“Fuck you both.” Malfoy scowled before dropping a tenner in the tip jar.

“And fuck you, little cousin. See you at Easter. I’ll try to keep my mother away from the good silverware.”

He barked a laugh and half-waved goodbye before exiting. 

Hermione had a rocky start with him and most of Julliard when she started. Raised in the rural Midwest, she didn’t have a lot of opportunities for ballet. Most of what she learned up until high school was self-taught after watching an old taping of Swan Lake over and over again until the VHS film wore down. She copied alongside it, step-by-step until she could do it in her sleep, fascinated by the beauty and grace of the women on stage. After that, she checked out every book, movie, and audiotape from the library, determined to become a ballerina.

It wasn’t until high school when she started lessons at the YMCA a forty-minute drive from her town. It wasn’t the most rigorous training but all her parents could afford. 

As luck would have it, a Ballet Mistress from Julliard had broken down in the middle of the town and was waiting for repairs when she passed the window of the auditorium. Minerva McGonagall took one look at Hermione and insisted she audition for the Ballet program when she graduated high school.

She spent the next few years in training. Her parents poured every cent of extra cash they had into summer programs and local lessons. Both picked up second jobs to funnel the money into Hermione’s dream and it had paid off.

Three years ago, she was accepted into the Juilliard School of Dance on a full scholarship.

From her very first class, it was clear that her situation was special. Mistress McGonagall only ever taught senior students directly and even then only upon recommendation. When Hermione showed up to her first class she was shocked to find herself surrounded by the ballerinas she had already seen gracing the stages of the Met and the New York Stage Theater.

She worked exceptionally hard; Mistress McGonagall demanded excellence in all of her students. Eventually, she earned her place, dancing lead alongside Malfoy in almost every major performance since her freshman year. It was difficult for him to come around but after enough perfect shows, he was forced to concede that she deserved to be there. As much as he complained, he was an excellent partner and she would trust no one else. They had just completed the Christmas Nutcracker performance and were starting a new routine so he was extra bitchy lately.

Hermione was in the middle of refilling the espresso machine when the door chimed again. She shouted over her shoulder, trying to set the bag down and balance on the step ladder at the same time.

“Welcome to ‘The Den’ just one sec-”

She was suddenly swept off the ladder by strong arms that hooked around her waist. There was a flash of wild, black hair that disappeared as she was swung around with a yelp.

“You okay out there?” Tonks shouted from the back.

“Just us!” A familiar booming voice answered back. By the time Harry had set her down she was dizzy and still trying to catch her breath while maintaining a glare at the very first friends she made in New York.

“Harry! You can’t be back here. It’s against the health code.”

“We don’t need to worry about that.” Ron smiled from the other side of the counter (where Harry _should_ have been standing). “We have badges of our own.”

Hermione took the moment to examine her friends. Her eyes immediately shot to the gleaming silver badges reading precinct number 0012. Beneath the polished metal, their last names were emblazoned on small strips pinned to the dark blue uniform. It could only mean one thing.

“Boys! You passed inspection!” 

She hopped over the counter to give Ron a welcoming hug as well, ignoring the awkward stiffness of the movement. They had broken up while he was still in the academy with Harry. Hermione just couldn’t handle the idea of him coming back to her hurt then galivanting back into the fray the next day. They had made up months ago but it was still awkward settling back into friendship.

“Yup. You’re looking at the newest beat cops for Grimmauld Place.” 

Harry started making himself a latte on the other side of the counter. His motions were practiced and smooth. They should be considering he had worked at the Den for years until he joined the force.

“Talk about a snooze fest. I was hoping for something in Harlem, where things really happen,” Ron complained, stealing the steaming cup Hermione had been drinking prior to their afternoon arrivals. He took a sip and promptly grimaced. “Jesus 'Mione, is this straight espresso?”

“Four shots, with some milk for color,” she responded primly, swiping the cup back. “And Grimmauld place is an excellent neighborhood to start. It is quiet and safe.”

“Bah! I didn’t become a cop to be safe. I want action, heroics, a chance to save lives,” Ron said

Though she would never admit it out loud, Hermione thought that Ron had serious middle child syndrome. His parents owned an orchard upstate that only maintained itself because it had been in the family for so long. With seven children, he never went hungry but often found himself at the end of a long line of hand-me-downs. 

It was an unsaid fact that the family could stand to make a fortune off the land should they ever sell it, but his mother had outright refused the idea of giving up her home.

Hermione ignored Ron’s comment, turning back to Harry who still was fiddling with his drink, getting it just right.

“Sirius must be thrilled.”

“Not really,” Harry said with a shrug, carefully dragging the foam across his design to finish off his tulip. “He said he now has connections for when he needs to be bailed out.”

Harry’s godfather, Sirius, had taken him in when his parents died in a car crash right after he was born. Harry’s parents had been famed politicians that had spent their time working on establishing fair tenant rights in the Bronx and were working on the other boroughs when they suddenly passed away. The whole city had mourned for them. 

Sirius, however, had stepped up from his bachelor lifestyle to finish raising Harry but had slipped back into it now that Harry was grown. The first time Hermione had met the well-bred man she had smacked him when he made a comment about her flexibility. It had quickly endeared her to him and he all but adopted her as well.

“You gonna leave him in the drunk tank?” she questioned.

“Yup.”

Harry smiled and sipped on his drink, taking the long way around to return to the customer’s side of the shop. Harry glanced around at all the clockwork gears and automatons, newly placed on the wall.

“Steampunk this month?”

“This week,” Hermione groaned. “Tonks has already started to purchase the décor for a greenhouse theme.”

‘The Den’ had an identity crisis of sorts. Tonks could never seem to make up her mind about how she wanted the place to look. Eventually, the theme of the place became ‘never the same shop twice’ and regulars visited whether it was post-millennial goth or k-pop candy. The coffee stayed the same at any rate, which is all the regulars really cared about in the end.

“How’s Molly taking it?”

Ron broke into a wide smile before leaning in closer to Hermione.

“Not worried in the slightest.”

“Oh really?” she asked doubtfully.

Molly was the definition of a doting mother to all of her children despite having so many. With Bill off working as an archaeologist and Charlie discovering a new breed of lizard in Romania, she held on even tighter to her stateside children. Hermione was surprised she had even let Ron take on such a dangerous career.

“Yup. Too busy worrying about the twins. It’s why we're over here actually. Mom sent us to check up on them.”

“What did they do this time? I haven’t seen them around lately.”

Fred and George attended Juilliard as well and were notoriously troublesome, frequently ditching their classes to play in the quad or trying to sneak modern pieces into classic concerts (occasionally with success). They were both scholarship students in the School of Music but with a campus as large as Juilliard, they rarely crossed paths with Hermione. She would occasionally glimpse them around campus in a flash of bright red Weasley hair or hear a loud, easy laugh amongst a sea of high-strung artists. For a long time she had resented them for goofing around and not taking their admission seriously, but that changed the first moment she heard them play. 

Her fellow dancers had called them a tandem duo of geniuses and by the end of the concert they had dragged her to Hermione was inclined to agree. Fred played the violin and George played the cello. When they performed together, it was like they were the same person, their music harmonizing perfectly into each other until it was impossible to separate. The whole thing lasted an hour but Hermione would have sworn she had only been sitting there for a few minutes. When the audience rose in thunderous applause she found herself standing as well, eyes wide as she clapped her hands together and whistled loudly until Fred sent her a saucy wink. The twins had snuck up behind her in the lobby afterward, gathering her up into a dual hug that lit envious fires in her classmates' eyes until she introduced them. Very quickly the twins were whisked away by a few girls and she didn’t feel the slightest bit guilty about throwing them into the clutches of the ballerinas.

“You wouldn’t have.” Ron smiled before leaning down to stage whisper. “They dropped out.”

“WHAT?!!?” Hermione's piercing screech had both boys covering their ears.

“Man, Hermione, they should record that and use it in riot control,” Harry remarked, rubbing the side of his head and laughing.

“What do you mean they dropped out?” Hermione ground out.

“Exactly what I said. Apparently, Fred has decided that they needed to focus on their band and school was just getting in the way.”

“What?!?” 

Hermione had, of course, heard their band. Every ‘it’ party would book ‘The Last Laugh’ if they wanted a shot at the party of the year. The band also frequented bars around New York on the weekends, sometimes planned, sometimes not. Either way, the venue ended up packed by the time they were halfway through the set. It was totally normal for any of the students to have side projects to work on, even if they weren’t conventional. But to drop Julliard for a punk band was just… just…

“Are they insane?!?”

“Molly thinks so.” Harry shrugged. “But you know they are good.”

“Of course they are good, great even. But great is not enough to get you by in the world of music. They could have kept it up on the side. Did Lee or Angelina drop?”

“Nope, just the twins.”

“Ridiculous,” she muttered. If there was anything she hated more than a waste of talent it was an _unnecessary_ waste of talent. 

“I say, live and let live,” Ron remarked, grabbing a muffin off of the rack.

“Of course you do. You gave up singing when you were fourteen.” 

“Way too much effort in my opinion. Good on them.” Ron glanced at his watch. “We have to get going though. Lounged around enough for one afternoon. We’ve got at least three ‘suspicious character’ reports from lonely little old ladies to address and we don’t want to keep them waiting.”

“Got to put in our time, Ron.” Harry smiled at Hermione before shouting at the back. “Tonks, we’re taking a latte and a Muffin.”

“I’ll put it on Sirius’s tab!” came the answering reply. 

Both boys bid their goodbyes before exiting the coffee shop. Hermione spent the rest of the day fuming. It was hard enough for scholarship students to be taken seriously in a world of legacy artists. Draco’s mother used to dance for the Bolshoi Ballet in Russia where his father was a famous pianist. Lee’s father was a famous opera singer and Angelina was a third-generation percussionist. 

Having two prodigies coming from a backwater no-name family shook the classical world. Along with Hermione's admission, it had forced the school to change their application process, removing all direct recommendation requirements. And they just _wasted_ it.

She was still grumbling about the news hours later when she got off shift. The sun had set and the air chilled to a frost, but that meant nothing to the New Yorkers who were still scrambling around the neighborhood. Locals stopped on doorsteps and shouted greetings from windows. Very important men in business suits crashed through crowds, heedless of anything but the conversation they were having on a too-loud phone. Children played in the streets, scrambling over the ice when cars honked angrily at them. The city was alive, even in the dead of winter.

Hermione heard a low mournful note twist through the frigid city air. She paused, tilting her head to catch the sound better. The tenor trembled against her heart, spurning her forward without even being aware of her feet moving. It wasn’t rare to hear music in Grimmauld. Most of the students who attended Juilliard lived in the hidden rent-controlled neighborhood that was the last gift the Potters had given before their death. In the summer, after the sun went down, windows opened and the sounds of a jumbled orchestra could be heard drifting through the streets, each building playing their own piece. Every year after graduation the departing Seniors would sit on balconies and fire escapes, playing collective pieces until fingers and voices were too drunk to carry the tune.

But something about this sound was different. She followed the keening hum down familiar city blocks, ducking into back alleyways and onto nearly invisible sidewalks. She recognized the aria as it drifted up and down, lonesome without the voice of its pairing. By the time she jumped a low wall of a garden, it was building to a slow crescendo. She found herself in an overgrown courtyard, staring up at a familiar shock of bright red hair on a third-floor fire escape.

His form was terrible. He was playing sitting down, leaning lazily against the grate with his eyes closed as he swayed to the music. It should have stuttered his performance but if anything it only made the piece more impactful. It was the kind of genius one rarely saw in the structured environment of the school, when he was perfectly at ease and unaware. She leaned against the stone wall and closed her eyes, letting the delicate strings settle over her, picking at her own urge to sway. But this was an opera aria. It was much too slow for ballet.

When the last notes faded away the sounds of the city bled back into the courtyard, breaking the rare spell that only happened when a musician didn’t know they had an audience. She smiled up at him, watching as he lovingly ran his fingers over the bow. After a moment he packed up his case, snapping the latches in place with a click.

When she politely applauded he jumped, the fire escape creaking ominously.

“Brava.”

Hermione smiled when his eyes found hers. The icy blue was dramatic against the paleness of his skin even from this distance. An easy smile stretched across his face as he leaned over the grate, case in hand. She really only knew the twins in passing and as a unit. She would see them together at school or at holiday dinners when she couldn’t make it home. But she had never really talked or worked with either of them one on one.

“Behold the newly born star. I am undeserving to have such a Doll in the audience. Hello, little Clara.*” She rolled her eyes at his ridiculousness pushing herself off the wall. 

“Does that mean I should start calling you Nickalausse?”

“I _have_ been known to warn others away from the sticky sap that is emotion,” he sighed dramatically. “Alas. The women. They flock to me, though I can never love them back.”

“We'll survive. I’m sure after one turn with you they find themselves just as equally fooled as Hoffman.”

“Jesus, you’re vicious!” His smile grew. “What brings you to my lonely courtyard, Hermione?”

“I heard you playing when I left work. You are annoyingly talented.”

“Why thank you.” He bowed mockingly, the fire escape creaking once more.

“Any reason for the impromptu concert?”

“Locked out,” he shrugged. “Stuck here until Lee gets back in a few hours.”

“I told you to get a spare key after the last time!”

“Who needs a spare key when you have five roommates. One of them was bound to be home.”

“But not this time,” she teased.

“No,” he laughed. “Not this time.”

The sounds of traffic drifted through the courtyard. The sirens and shouts blending into the background noise she had come to filter out of her mind completely. She frowned and crossed her arms. 

“Fred, what were you thinking, dropping out like that?”

“Ugh, not you too. I already got the guilt trip from ickle Ronniekins. I don’t need it from someone clever enough to hit where it hurts.”

“It’s a waste,” she chided, “and you dragged George into it too.”

“And that’s where it hurts. Record time Hermione, well done.” He pulled on his gloves with a scowl. “Why does everyone assume it was all my fault? I’m not my brother’s keeper.”

“We both know George is the sensible one. He only ever does something outrageous when you push him to.”

He groaned and ran his hand through his hair. The brick-red strands glinted in the fading light, reflecting back a wave of copper. It was too long, falling just above his shoulders. If he was still in the school they would have made him cut it for the Spring performances.

“I’m just... burnt out. Don’t you ever get sick of dancing the exact same thing that some dead guy wrote hundreds of years ago? Don’t you ever want to do something new?”

“A classical ballerina is not a good person to pose that question to.” She smiled softly in spite of herself.

“Right.” Fred seemed to draw into himself, his face suddenly stony and blank. “Of course you wouldn’t get it.”

“I do get it,” Hermione sighed. “It’s all part of the game, Fred. We all exist only because some old rich men want us to make pretty sounds and dance in pretty ways for their entertainment. Whether you hate it or not is irrelevant. It’s play or starve.”

“I’d rather starve than spend the rest of my life eating food that tastes like ash in my mouth.”

“And you very well may. You chose this life.”

“Well no one told me it would be so boring and I am sick of it.” He slammed his hands against the rail. The metal groaned in protest. “I want to make what I want, when I want, about what I want. I’m sick of playing for someone else like a wind-up music box. They can get a fucking record player.”

“But you have so much talent-”

“And that talent means nothing without passion. Why can’t anyone see that?” He stared down at her meaningfully. “Can you just drop it? I have had this conversation no less than three times today and I am so over it.”

She bit back the urge to chastise him in the face of his pained fury. He was lashing out, but it wasn’t fair for her to pick at him when he had already made a decision. She sighed and shook her head.

“I suppose I hardly know you well enough to lecture.” 

“Since when has that ever stopped you?”

Hermione couldn’t help the giggle that slipped from her throat. Fred smiled in response. After a moment she let her features soften as she looked up.

“So… all in on The Last Laugh.”

“The only way to be.” 

She sighed dramatically.

“I suppose you’ll have to let me know when you’re playing. I’ll try to make it to whatever I can.”

“I always knew you were a true fan,” he responded with a cheeky wink.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Well, want to come hang at my place until Lee gets back? It’s only a few blocks from here and your mother will kill me if I let you get frostbite.”

“I don’t suppose you have food?” he questioned hopefully.

“Ramen and tomato soup.”

“Beef?” Fred seemed hopeful at the thought.

“Chicken is far superior,” she scoffed. 

“And I thought you were smart.”

They bickered as he slid down the grates, rust raining down from metal. By the time his feet landed on the pavement she released a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

“That thing is a death trap.”

“This is New York. Everything is a deathtrap. Have you ever eaten at Louie’s Pizza?”

“No. I like my stomach exactly where it is. Inside of me.” Hermione responded with a grimace.

“Exactly. Deathtrap. I hope your place has fewer cockroaches than Louie’s.”

She laughed in spite of herself as they set off toward her apartment. The first few flakes had just started to fall as they exited the courtyard.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes in the order they appear in the fic
> 
> Donkeys milk latte: actually a very VERY good milk to use for lattes. It has a higher fat content than whole and and makes for a smoother flavor... but also more calories. It does taste a bit raw compared to your standard supermarket brand.
> 
> Ballet Mistress: a person in a ballet company whose duty is to give a daily company ballet class and rehearse ballets that the dancers will perform. Hermione is in a class not a company but the Headmistress/ Dance mistress was too good to pass up.
> 
> Ballerina: Technically only the top dancer in a ballet troupe is considered the ballerina prima. For the ease of readers I will be ignoring this fact. (although Hermione is actually the ballerina of her troupe).
> 
> Juilliard: A highly respected school for the preforming arts in NYC. Very difficult and expensive to get into.
> 
> Doll/Clara: The lead female of the Nutcracker. Depending on rendition Clara is either a child who falls into the weird Christmas magic world or turns into her doll and does the same.
> 
> Nickalausse: The aria Fred was playing. One of the most well-known violin arias it is actually part of the opera Les Contes d'Hoffmann, telling the story of a poet's failed love affair. In this bit Fred is referencing Nickalausse, an aria in which Hoffmann falls in love with a dancing autonomaton and his friend (Nickalausse) tries to warn him. He doesn't listen and ends up fooled and heart broken that she cannot love him back.
> 
> The chapter title is the opening line from one of Disney's dark movies: Oliver and Company.


	2. Light Up the Sky

“Morning Neville.” Hermione groaned, standing from where she was stretching her muscles. They were still sore from her rehearsal this morning. Mistress McGonagall was a slave driver with the coming spring performance. It wasn't that Hermione wasn’t grateful to be cast, she was. But that didn’t stop her muscles from protesting.

“Mocha Cappuccino?” she questioned already pulling out the milk.

“Please. Also a pineapple café breve with a sprinkle of matcha on top.”

Hermione screwed up her face. Café breves always concerned her. No one needed that amount of fat in liquid form. Add the matcha and pineapple and you had a perfect storm of creamy, sour bitterness. Only one person ever ordered that in the entirety of the city.

“Heading to Luna’s then?” she asked.

“Yeah, helping her set up for tonight.”

“What’s tonight?”

She set about tamping the grounds while he poked at one of the garden gnomes pinned to the wall. Hermione was honestly shocked that Tonks had found a way to keep them all up there, damage to the structure notwithstanding.

“Party at the Rookery. Are you coming?” Neville looked at her hopefully.

He and Luna both attend the Pratt Institute for Architecture. It was the odd shape of Luna’s family brownstone that got them talking in the first place. Luna had since moved programs at least three times, seemingly gathering just enough of everything to know nothing.

“The last time I walked into one of her parties there was an orgy in the living room,” she scoffed as she began foaming the milk.

“You exaggerate.”

“Tell that to Parkinson’s bony ass. I did _not_ need that haunting my nightmares.” 

“Well there will be no-” Neville paused. “There will be the standard amount of sex at this one. Really, just a regular house party. She even convinced The Last Laugh to play and you know they’re always a good time.”

Hermione chewed on her lip as she pulled the shot, watching the crema bubble to the top. She hadn’t seen or heard from Fred since the long night spent at her place. 

Her apartment was a microscopic one-room setup at barely two-hundred and fifty square feet. The only place to sit was the Murphy bed when it was pulled down and some crappy beanbag chairs she hadn't felt like pulling out. They spent so long laughing and snacking on cheap induction heated food that by the time Fred got his text, the snow had shifted to a nasty sleet. She offered to let him wait it out and he agreed, playing some of her favorite pieces in payment. 

After an hour of freezing rain and her downstairs neighbor smacking the ceiling with what could have been a broom or a steel girder, she cracked open a bottle of cheap wine and they set about waiting out the weather. She woke in the morning with her legs draped over his lap halfway off the bed and a pounding headache. He was laughing when she kicked him out, teasing her for being a lightweight. 

George had been in the shop for a drink or two since then but was sans his twin. 

Hermione could always identify the correct twin, even though they were biologically identical down to the last detail. It drove them crazy and they spent way too much time trying to figure out how she did it. She was surprised they hadn’t caught on yet.

The first time she had been to the Burrow for Thanksgiving, George had fallen down the stairs and his home pierced industrial bar was ripped out, leaving a small notch of skin missing and blood all over the hall. It had never grown back right but she appeared to be the only one to notice. Even if hair covered whatever redhead’s ear wandered in, they would inevitably tuck the strands behind their ear after a moment or two of standing still. Neither of them could keep their hands idle for more than a second.

“What’s the occasion?” she asked.

“Lunar eclipse. Something about the great rabbit in the moon requiring a festival to prevent it from crashing to earth,” he paused. “Harry and Ron will be there.”

“I haven’t seen them in ages!” 

Hermione perked up immediately. She knew her friends were busy. Their twelve-hour shifts flipped every two weeks so that by the time they adjusted to the day shift they would be thrown on nights again. She would get scattered responses to her text but that was it.

“I can make sure we have those disgusting wine coolers you like,” Neville tempted.

“You’re one to judge when I am making this concoction.” She indicated the half and half she was steaming.

“Luna is a woman of complex taste buds.”

“Right. That’s a way to put it. Should I wear a costume?”

“ Wait, you actually want to come?” The look of shock on Neville’s face rankled her. It wasn’t that she was anti-social. She was just busy.

“You invited me,” she deadpanned, handing off his cappuccino. 

“But you never come. You’re always too busy rehearsing or working or sleeping.”

“Yeah well,” She snapped a lid on the horridly sour, bitter, fatty drink and handed it off too. “Are you really a starving artist in the city unless you are running on three hours of sleep?”

“What is sleep?” Neville asked before laughing. “No costume required, but she had me buy fifty pounds of carrots so… I guess be ready for anything.”

Hermione sent him on his way with his abomination. It had been a while since she had been out and she had spent too much time away from the world. She needed to get her quarterly socializing in. And maybe then she would see Fred and could chastise him for not visiting now that he was a jobless bum. That could be fun.

00000000000000000

The Rookery was not, in fact, a place that housed corvids. Instead, it was a single tall, thin brownstone on a loud street full of characters that Hollywood wished it could scoop up and plant on the big screen. The namesake of the building came from the tall, illegally built additions of crenellations giving it the appearance of a chess piece. Halfway down the block, Hermione could already hear the music thumping. People spilled out onto the sidewalk and street alike, flipping off cars as they stumbled about.

She tugged her coat tighter, trying not to slip as she made her way down the sidewalk. She climbed the steps carefully and knocked twice with the eagle head knocker. The copper eyes flipped open, cerulean blue irises peering out at her.

“I take and take but leave nothing behind.”

Hermione thought for a moment.

“Imperialism?”

The drunk voice laughed wildly and threw open the door. Hermione was blasted by the heat of too many bodies and not enough open windows. She slipped inside and hung her coat on the rack inside a secret panel by the hall tree. She smiled to herself at the carrots hanging in every window.

As expected the room was packed. The cacophony of several different conversations ran through her ears like a river of words. Some laughing, some crying, some altogether too drunk. She barely made it three steps in the door before a promised wine cooler was shoved in her hand by the familiar face that had quizzed her.

“Miss Granger, as I live and breathe. How is my graceful little ballerina?”

Theodore Nott was remarkably tall for a dancer. He would have never made it in ballet but in his homeland of Jazz he barely squeaked by. He was always the first to smile and his easy going demeanor made him everyone's best friend. 

“Stop it, Theo. You’ll spoil a girl.” 

She kissed him lightly on the cheek before taking a sip of her over-sugared Kool-Aid with alcohol. She first met Theo during an ill-conceived collaboration between the ballerinas and the jazz dancers organized by Flitwick, their program head. It was supposed to be a rendition of West Side Story that ended with a bit too much real blood peppering the stage to work. Regardless she came away with a new appreciation for the other schools of dance but she still thought ballet was the best.

“You’re worth spoiling after that lovely Christmas performance. Draco bitched for weeks after you got cast as his opposite.”

“Malfoy always bitches.”

“Isn’t that the truth,” Theo agreed, sipping on his own mystery drink. It was a bright neon pink that appeared to be radioactive.

“Where _is_ the broken record? I’ve been here for five minutes and he hasn’t called me poor yet.”

“Shoving his tongue down Parkinson’s throat in the corner.” He made an equivalent face of disgust at his friend's antics. “Luna was looking for you though.”

Luna was solely responsible for the variety of people in attendance. There was someone from nearly every creative school in New York and it made for a wild collaboration of people including a good many famous alumni from past years, like Theo.

“I’ll go find her.”

“Gossip first.” Theo smiled as he led her through the crowd. “I heard the Weasley twins dropped out. What have you got for me?”

“You are such a drama whore,” she scoffed. “Yes, they dropped out. No, no one is pregnant and yes, I am horribly disappointed at them for throwing their lives away.”

“Hey, I dropped out too you know,” he responded, shouldering past a gaggle of heavily made up fashionistas. “Move it. We’re VIP here.”

Hermione laughed as they scowled, whispering horrible things in each other's ears. She could guarantee that they had no idea Theo was a star Hollywood choreographer that could get them all life-changing internships in various costume design departments. According to his last tweet he had just had lunch with Ryan Reynolds after teaching him how to step-ball-change for the next summer blockbuster.

“That was different. You already found a job,” she said.

“Details. Details. Do what you love and money will come.” 

She sipped her drink as they descended to the basement. The room opened up into an arched dome that no doubt spilled across the neighboring plots. It used to be an old speakeasy back during prohibition and when Xeno got ahold of the property he dug it out and restored it to its former glory.

Just across the heads of the crowd, she could see the twin flashes of red as they mirrored each other in a perfectly synchronized jump. George picked at his bass while Fred’s hand danced across his guitar and Lee screamed something angry and dark into the mic. Angelina rounded it off, slamming on the drums as she provided back up vocals. 

It was hard to believe that they were all classically trained as they made the room riot. She couldn’t help but smile as she caught the look of absolute rapture plastered across Fred’s face as he slammed his back against his brother, shouting the chorus in tandem.

Hermione quickly found herself deposited off to the right of the stage in an old booth. Ron greeted her with a tight smile, purposefully trying to ignore the way his sister was curled up on Harry’s lap attempting to suck the air out of his lungs.

“We got shot at today,” Ron shouted over the din. “You would think he got hit with how much she is clinging to him.”

“Young love,” she yelled as she settled next to him. 

Luna was doing some sort of interpretive dance on the table that did not match the music at all but was still beautiful all the same. Hermione was just starting on her second wine cooler when the music cut off, Lee breathing heavily into the microphone.

“Thank you, thank you. We are The Last Laugh. As you may have heard, two of our lovely bandmates, the twins, have decided to say ‘fuck you’ to the establishment and gone rouge.” He paused giving the boys a moment to bow dramatically as the crowd cheered. When it didn’t die down he swiped his hand through the air dodging the bottle that was thrown at his head. “Someone get that asshole out of here before I let Angelina take it there.”

“Keep the blood off the bar!” Neville shouted as the man was swiftly kicked up the stairs by the crowd. 

“Fucking tourist. Anyways, our guitarist, my dear Freddie boy,” Lee paused again for the expected cheer. “-has got some new stuff for you. Ready yeah?”

“Ready!” the twins responded. 

Fred then pulled out an electric violin, hooking it to the amplifier and tossing his guitar to Lee who swiped it out of the air and threw the strap over his shoulder.

“Right then. One, two, three, four!” 

The music slammed against the speakers. A nearly visible sound wave shot through the room and echoed off the walls in a surge of power that left Hermione gasping for breath. The strings screamed, playing harshly with Lee’s vocals as the bass and drums barely held the whole thing together. It was wild and chaotic and messy and _wonderful_!

Hermione could find something to appreciate in all music. It was impossible not to love the creation of sound, no matter the source. But this was a different sort of composition that set her nerves sparking and made her blood catch fire.

The Last Laugh played a few more songs, swapping instruments and vocals like a well-oiled machine, passing off the reins to whichever bandmate held out their hands. By the time they finished out the set, Hermione had joined the crowd in a press of bodies and alcohol, leaving her ears ringing and her skin broiling.

The band packed up quickly, opening up the stage for an impromptu open mic night now that the main act was done. Before making her way back to the table Hermione needed some air. She fought her way up the stairs to the fourth floor, jumping over the missing step that went all the way down into the kitchen. She waited until the hall was mostly clear before pulling a latch in the old veneer of a wall panel and popping it open. 

She slid onto the hidden balcony and leaned over the railing to watch the people below her riot in the streets. Someone had stolen traffic cones and blocked off the ends of the road and people openly congregated. Spoken-word poetry was shouted out of circles. Drunken renditions of Shakespeare broke out on the sidewalk with sticks and trash used as props. Even the noncreative types were happy, whipping snowballs at anyone who moved.

There was something magical about Luna’s parties. Everyone came away with something after a night like this. She wouldn’t be surprised if most of the great works of the next decade were conceived right here, in this house.

She jumped as the false panel opened, Fred sliding through the crack in a hurried motion. He was still breathing heavily and his skin steamed against the cold of the air. His leather jacket was thrown over one shoulder, the glint of the studs matching the hoops through his ears. His hair was tipped with sweat and his face was flushed with pride and endorphins. 

When she saw him like this she knew that, if the world were fair, he would absolutely make it big. The intense passion that flowed through him refused to be ignored. He would take the stage by storm, knocking things apart as quickly as he built up new ones. 

But the world wasn’t fair and for every one thousand bands in New York, only one was as good as The Last Laugh. And out of those, only one out of every ten thousand actually went the distance. Passion meant nothing in a game about luck and connections.

“Hey.”

He jumped, unaware she was there, and spilled the amber liquid in his cup onto his ripped jeans. The action made her laugh as he turned to her.

“Oh, thank god. A rational woman. Any chance I can convince you to hang off my arm and scare away the she-demons.”

“Oh dear. Women are attracted to you. How hard your life is,” she teased. 

Fred scoffed and came to a stop just close enough she could feel the waves of heat from his skin. It was nice against the frigid air.

“They aren’t attracted to me. They want the idea of me.”

“‘Sexy musician' covers a lot of the men present,” she chided.

"Yeah, but groupies asking to be double-teamed by you and your twin are a bit more selective innit?"

She choked openly on her drink, beating her hand against her chest as he laughed at her.

“That was crude,” she spat, still trying to gain control of her breathing.

“But also true.” He seemed to think for a moment before his smile cracked wide. “Did you just call me sexy?”

“No,” she coughed. “I called the idea of you sexy. You ruin it as soon as you open that big mouth of yours.”

He frowned and swiped her drink from the balcony.

“I am not drunk enough to keep up with your witty commentary.” She openly laughed when he sputtered, the pastel pink liquid splashing onto the snow in front of them. “What on earth is that?!?”

“A wine cooler. They aren’t so bad when you aren’t coming off of a bottom shelf whiskey.” She nodded towards his drink.

“It tastes like pink. How can something taste like a color? God, my teeth itch!”

She continued to laugh until the winter air finally wicked the last warmth from her overheated skin. She shivered against the snow and stole her drink back.

“It’s too cold for this. I’m-” 

Before she could move she found herself under his coat, all but swimming in the heavy leather that still held his body heat. He smiled softly at her before leaning against the balcony. 

“Stay while. It's just sad if I am drinking alone.”

“Or the inspiration to be the next Kurt Cobain,” she responded before resettling against the stone.

“Couldn’t you have picked an alcoholic that didn’t shoot himself?” 

“The Great should emulate the Greatest.” 

She winked at him and he slowly shook his head with a smile. A comfortable silence fell between them as they watched the production of Twelfth Night get interrupted by a neighboring fight scene between the Capulets and Montagues which quickly dissolved into a vicious snowball fight.

“You said I was a waste of talent.” 

His voice was more serious than she had ever heard it. When she glanced over he was staring off over the rooftops, watching as the ever-present skyline built up around them.

“No,” she corrected. “I said _it_ was a waste… to throw away your backup option like that.” 

He nodded numbly, not tearing his eyes from the sprawling lights in front of them.

“Do you think we will make it?” he asked in an almost silent whisper.

She paused, searching for words that were both helpful and honest.

“If life is fair,” she decided. “You are all incredibly talented and have a presence that sets you apart from every other band in this city. If you do make it big you will shake the palace to its foundations.”

“But?”

“But it’s a numbers game,” she sighed, pushing her bare hands into the snow piled on the railing. “You can do everything right and still fail.”

“I know.” Fred ran his hair through his hands, shaking off the ice and snow that had settled on it. Finally, he glanced at her, a haunted look on his face. “You were right you know.”

“I usually am.” She couldn’t help the surge of affection when he smiled.

“George would follow me to the very end. When I dropped he asked if he should too,I didn’t even think before answering yes.”

“You do everything together, why stop now?”

Silence fell again and she wrapped his coat tighter against her shoulders. He was probably freezing by now.  
  


“I wish I could be like you," he said. "I saw you dance the Nutcracker. You were fucking fantastic.”

“That show was sold out for months, there was no way you could possibly have-”

“Ron gave me his ticket.”

“That asshole!” she groaned, resisting the urge to stomp down the stairs and punch the youngest Weasley male. Hermione had called in a favor when he asked to come to the show and he just pawned it off on one of his brothers.

“Go easy on him. He had to work.” 

Fred smiled as he patted her hand. After a moment he rested it there, long past when he should have pulled away. She didn’t say anything, feeling like she was on the edge of something important. Besides, she wanted to hear what he thought about the performance. 

“Well, I’m glad _someone_ got to see it at least. What did you think? I know I missed at least two steps-”

“See that's why I’m so envious of you,” he interrupted and she snapped her mouth shut. “You are so happy up there. You are constantly picking apart your performances to be better, to strive for perfection. This isn’t your backup option. It’s your dream and you are just doing it! That’s what I want. It’s what I’m doing… but no one seems to understand it.”

Hermione paused, letting the words settle over her. After a moment she flipped her hand, curling her fingers around his palm.

“It’s hard being different from what everyone else wants you to be… Especially when you had to fight so hard to get there in the first place.” 

Hermione got it, she really did. She _hated_ being trotted out in front of the ancient benefactors of the school to spin and twirl for them in private performances that made her feel like she could never have enough clothing. She was sick of listening to retired alumni whose bones gave out at thirty and were forced to marry or starve. It wasn’t fair or kind but it was dance, and she knew what she was signing up for when she first put on those slippers.

“Did I make the right choice?” Fred asked with none of the easy confidence he always had. 

It felt wrong to see him like this, alone and melancholy. Whenever he was with George he was part of a pair, a matched set that only varied by the lot numbers printed on the bottle of the ceramic. It occurred to her that he probably hated that too, being part of a duo that only found value together.

“Are you happy?”

“More than happy... I love it.” 

She could tell by the way his eyes sparked and the dreamy smile that graced his face that it was the truth. She rested a cold hand against his cheek, sharply inhaling at the still-burning warmth of his skin as he looked down.

“Then it was the right choice.”

Something flickered across his face. The icy blue of his eyes and bright red of his hair were a stark contrast against the blanket of white around them. She moved to pull her hand away but he reached up to grab her wrist. Her breath caught as he stared down at her, like she was something rare to be treasured.

When he pulled her to his chest she blamed the cheap booze. When he dropped his lips to hers she blamed the intimate conversation. When her mind blanked and she wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him back she forgot to blame anything at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pineapple Café Breve with Matcha:  
> Look... During my days as a barista I've seen it all. I don't judge, like what you like. But seriously, don't ever try this.
> 
> Winecoolers:  
> Drunk in a bottle. Sugary soda paired with alcohol.
> 
> West Side Story:  
> A musical with a LOT of dancing based around opposing gangs (who dance). It's.... weird. But theater kids tend to love it.
> 
> Kurt Cobain:  
> I... I shouldn't need to say this but I am getting old. The legendary singer songwriter of Nirvana fame. He killed himself at the height of the band's popularity. 
> 
> Capulets and Montagues  
> Referencing the families from Romeo and Juliet.


	3. Three Flights Up

They disappeared back inside, Fred merging back with his band and Hermione rejoining her old friends with bruised lips and wide eyes. She spent the rest of the night drinking, drowning out feelings she didn’t have time for and thoughts of his tongue slipping across hers. She turned away from every flash of red hair, knowing that if she saw him again she would make a very stupid decision.

By the time Harry dropped her off at her apartment, Hermione could barely pull down her bed before collapsing into it. She woke in the morning to the sound of loud mariachi music from the apartment below her, slamming against her head. She pulled out her cell, responding to various messages and check in’s from her friends. Oddly enough she had one from Theo as well.

**Theo (5:52am) Granger, darling. Sweet. Love. Princess so kind and wonderful. Please tell me you didn’t die last night.**

_Hermione (7:02am) Still kicking why?_

She pushed up from the bed trying not to think about how her brain felt way too large for her skull and prepped a quick egg white omelet and a French press. 

**Theo (7:04am) Thank god you’re up. Draco and Pansy played tonsil hockey all night and then came home to rut like animals in heat. It’s disgusting. Sanctuary, please.**

_Hermione (7:05am) I have a one room apartment that's horribly out of your way. I think the large townhouse where you could just MOVE ROOMS would be better_.

**Theo (7:05am) It’s knowing that mating frenzy is happening less than 100 feet away that kills me. Directions?**

_Hermione (7:08am) Go stay in a hotel then. That’s why you have money._

She choked down the food while pulling on her rehearsal gear and grabbing her shoes. 

**Theo (7:10am) You are a genius among idiots. Thank you.**

**Theo (7:13am) Incidentally can you let me know when the next big show for the Last Laugh is? Someone saw them on my story and wanted to check them out.**

Hermione grabbed the thermos of black coffee and swept into the elevator with a groan. Malfoy would be there early and snippy, nursing his own hangover and regrets about his on-again-off-again fling with Pansy. Hermione had no idea why they even bothered; they always seemed to be at each other's throats in one way or another. But it wasn't her problem and it meant that Malfoy probably had some Tylenol to share.

Just as she began her walk to the subway her phone buzzed. Careful to dodge past a particularly deep pothole as she crossed the street, she pulled out her cell and was surprised to see an unsaved number.

**(7:28am) Hey it’s Fred. Ron gave me your number. Make it home okay?**

She paused, chewing on her lip as she read. She didn’t want to think about this. Emotions were too messy and distracting. They got in the way of her life and she simply didn’t have time for them. She had to text back, to say something that would land them firmly in friend territory, even if she had-

Nearby, church bells rang, signaling the half-hour. She only had 30 minutes to make it across town in time for rehearsal. If she was late Malfoy would bitch for no less than twenty minutes about professionalism and McGonagall’s lips would pull into that tight little frown she got when she was disappointed. Hermione _hated_ that frown.

She swore and took off toward the subway at a run, the weekend crowd surged around her as she shouldered her way through the masses. Hermione was so desperate to catch the next train she slipped her phone into her bag and promptly forgot about it.

0000000000000000000000000000000000

Hermione was removing the last of the gnomes from the wall. In an absolutely unsurprising move, Tonks had changed her mind after two weeks of the gnomes and had changed the aesthetic to a haunted forest. An interesting choice for early February but Hermione was not paid for her opinion.

The welcome bell rang, and she turned to her newest customer, her arms filled with tiny short men. 

“Welcome to the- oh! Hello, Fred.”

She set the gnomes on the counter much to the redhead’s amusement.

“Wrong. I’m George. Desperate to get your hands on a man, Hermione? They seem like a bit of a handful for you but who am I to judge.”

Hermione paused, glancing back at the one half of twin in front of her. Her eyes roved over his body strictly more than necessary, taking in his thick work boots and the way his hands were tucked in his dark jeans. She was almost grateful for that fact, his fingers had played far too much of a starring role in her dreams lately. 

She finished her perusal with a critical hand on her chin. He was wearing that same leather jacket that had been wrapped around her at the party and the memory sent a sharp stab through her heart before she could shake it away. Her eyes skipped over his chest and long arms before coming to rest on the unnotched ear.

“Nope, definitely Fred.”

“Well believe what you want but I _am_ George.” He shrugged as if he wasn’t bothered but she could just see the way his fingers twitched in his pockets as he lied.

“Sure. Well, what can I get for you then _George_.”

“The usual,” he muttered, leaning on the counter. “One for Fred too, since I _am_ the generous twin.”

“Mmm-hmm. Get paid last night?”

“Feast now, famine later.”

She completed the two drinks slowly, using more care than was strictly necessary to make sure they were just right. A vanilla latte for Fred and a Chai Latte for George. She made small talk with him, referencing conversations that she never had with either twin and smiling to herself as he nodded along.

“How's the band?”

“Good good. Been busy. Booked a show this Saturday at The Lion’s Head so we’re making _real_ musician money.”

“So barely scraping by then?” Hermione said.

“Yup.”

“I see. And how is your brother?”

“As well as can be. Devilishly handsome and thrown into his music with a passion that rivals the most inspired composer that has ever lived. How sweet of you to ask after him.” He preened a bit more over it than George would have.

Hermione just hummed as he paid, adding a lid to both cups. She waited until he wasn’t looking and swapped the drinks, marking them with the opposite name. He thanked her and left without taking a sip of ‘George’s’ drink. While she didn’t usually text during work she whipped out her phone and sent the show details to Theo, feeling like a great friend to both parties. It was approximately two minute later when Fred came back sputtering.

“Hermione, you messed up my drink!”

“Did I?” she questioned in faux innocence.

“Yes! It tastes like Christmas!”

“That would be George’s chai latte, which was in the ‘Fred’ cup. Since you were calling yourself George, I figured you still wanted your vanilla latte under his name.”

“Jesus! How do you do that?” he groaned, taking a cautious sip of his proper drink. He all but melted in satisfaction as he tried to glare at her.

“And give up my secret? Never.”

“You knew it was me the whole time!” he whined.

“I told you that at the start!”

He laughed and shook his head. After a moment they settled into an awkward silence. Hermione found her self scratching at the chipping paint of gnome on the counter, just so she would have something to do.

“Not to be clingy or uncool but...Did you get my text?” Fred asked.

She remembered the text two days later when flipping through her phone on a break. It felt like way too long had passed to respond so she just kept ignoring it. Apparently, that wasn’t going to work.

“I did. Thanks for checking in. I was just running late for rehearsal that morning so I forgot to respond.”

Struck by the urge to move, she made herself busy cleaning out the espresso puck, smacking it against the trash can and watching it split apart. Hermione couldn’t make herself look at him and it felt an awful lot like she was running away.

“Cool, I was just checking,” he tried.

“Sure. I appreciate that.”

They stood in silence and as Hermione cleaned the steam wand far past what was necessary.

“Well thanks for the coffee, even if you did try to poison me.”

She laughed but didn’t say anything else. There was a moment of hesitation before his footsteps headed toward the door. Hermione didn’t look up from the machine until the next customer walked in ten minutes later.

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Hermione was begrudgingly dragging herself back from rehearsal. Her feet ached. Her back was sore. Malfoy had called her a troll no less than three times which did nothing for her self-esteem and to top things off, a nasty Nor’easter was supposed to blow in overnight so she had to fight the masses to make sure she was stocked enough to not starve.

She was stumbling home with a backpack of cheap microwaveable meals when she heard those soft keening notes again. Her brain told her to ignore it, to keep turning down her street and head home before the snow started. But as much as she told herself to do so, she still found her feet following the lonely notes of his playing.

This time she knew where she was going, wandering a familiar path back into the empty courtyard. The snow that had already fallen last night insulated the area, perfecting the acoustics. Just as last time she settled against the low wall, clearing a small area to sit. 

She recognized the piece this time, understandable considering she had danced to it until her toes bled. The soft slow notes of ‘A Pine Forest in Winter’ drained into the courtyard. Hermione set down her bag as he played, his eyes closed as he focused on the music just as the first flakes started to fall.

Hermione ran through the choreography in her head waiting for the right note to pick up the steps before spinning across the cobblestones. Her shoes weren’t right and the snow made her slow and clumsy. She didn’t have a partner and her hair was hiding most of her facial expressions. She slipped twice on the ice, nearly falling on her ass. Still, when she glanced up during a turn she saw him watching her, his eyes half-lidded as the strings sang.

She cut a path through the fresh snow, only marred by his footprints. Hermione spun and leaped with the careless abandon, smiling as the soft flakes settled in her hair and knowing that all the footsteps would be soon covered with snow as if she had never been there in the first place. By the time final notes trickled away, she was breathless and too warm in her coat, her muscles humming from the labor. When she looked up he was staring at her with an unreadable expression on his face.

“So that’s how you catch a wild ballerina,” he joked softly, his voice barely reaching her.

“You wouldn’t want one of us for a pet. We are temperamental and tend to bite.” 

Fred laughed and she couldn’t help but feel like it was even more beautiful of a sound than his music. She let her hands fall from her ending positions, brushing against her coat as her body settled.

“I didn’t know you knew that one. It’s not a typical concert piece.”

“I didn’t,” he glanced at his bow before packing it away. “I learned it after watching you dance. I couldn’t get it out of my head. It was... _You_ were beautiful.”

“You’re sweet,” she brushed off as she tried not to blush.

“Don’t worry about it.” He shook his head, leaning against the rusted railing. “Besides it was worth it to watch you dance like that, just for me.”

There was a tinge of sadness to his smile. The light that was usually present didn’t quite reach his eyes. Still, he stared at her, drinking her in like he didn’t want to leave a drop for anyone else. Hermione bit her lip and shifted, suddenly aware of her oversized parka and baggy jeans. 

She sighed, staring up at the redhead.

“Locked out again?”

Fred looked behind him as if he had forgotten why he was standing there in the first place. When he turned back his usual grin was painted back into place.

“I have the most irresponsible roommates.”

“I told-”

“Yeah yeah. Spare key. I’ll get around to it at some point.”

She glanced at the darkening sky. The flakes were falling faster now, fat and wet as they clung to her hair and skin. 

“A big storm is coming.”

“I tend to have the worst timing when it comes to getting locked out,” he responded cheerfully.

“I apparently have the best timing for bailing you out.”

“Why Miss Granger,” He raised a scandalized hand to his chest. “-are you trying to take me home?”

“I should let you freeze,” she snapped, instantly feeling silly. It was a terribly stupid offer to make really. Not when things were so... confusing between them.

Fred leaned forward against the railing a witty report on his lips just as the sound of creaking metal cut through the clearing. In the space of a moment, his eyes widened and the railing snapped. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nor'easter:  
> a storm along the East Coast of North America, so called because the winds over the coastal area are typically from the northeast. These storms may occur at any time of year but are most frequent and most violent between September and April. They dump snow and rain in vast amounts/
> 
> A Pine Forest in Winter:  
> The scene from the nutcracker when the nutcracker turns into a prince and dances through the forest with Clara.


	4. On the Brink

“Ow, ow, ow! Nurse, I would like to speak to your patient advocate. This is abuse I say!”

“Oh hush!” Hermione chastised as she guided him past the door of her apartment. It was a small blessing that she had left the bed down in her rush this morning. She deposited him on it with a huff. 

“There are easier ways of getting me in your bed than throwing me off a balcony, Hermione.” Fred wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“I should have left you in the bushes.” Hermione rolled her eyes and stepped over to the small cabinet that made up her kitchen. She pulled out her electric kettle and set about brewing some coffee and making them a fine supper of assorted preservatives.

“Hand me my case? I want to check and make sure it’s not damaged.”

“You’re the one that fell.” 

Still, she grabbed his violin from the door handing it off to him before returning to their coffee. She poured them each a cup as they waited for the noodles to rehydrate. 

“Well I don’t know what damage you did, swinging it around like that. Honestly, it’s a violin. Not a wrecking ball.”

“You’re lucky I climbed up that deathtrap at all. I could have broken my leg and then how would we have limped back here?” she asked.

“We could have frozen to death together and someone would have composed an opera about it.” Fred paused to drag his hand across the air in front of him in a grand gesture. “The violinist and the ballerina meet a tragic end. Very romantic.”

“You’re impossible,” she huffed, bringing him over his noodles. 

They ate in slowly, joking about the horrible combination of coffee and MSG but still imbibing both because they were utterly frozen and starving. The snow had started in earnest two blocks from her apartment building. By the time they fought their way through the door, it was near whiteout conditions. 

Fred waited until they had finished to run his hand lovingly over his instrument. The wood was stained a warm copper and the handmade craftsmanship spoke of age and value. She didn’t bother to ask if it was worth much, Hermione found that most of the students were carting around tens of thousands of dollars of equipment.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you. It was my Uncle Gideon's.” He pulled out the bow, sawing across the strings and checking the tuning. “His brother Fabian owned George’s cello.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. They died when we were six. There was a fire on their way home and they heard a woman inside. She and her children got out before the building collapsed but our uncles didn’t. They left the instruments to us in their will, just because we were the newest set of twins. No one could have guessed we would outplay them by age ten." Fred smiled weakly. "Poor men just wanted to give us a bit of fun and set us up with a lifetime of expectations.”

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. Mostly because she didn’t know what else there was to say

“Don’t be.” He shook his head, setting the instrument back in its velvet-lined case. “It is too much a part of me now to know anything else.”

After a moment lost in his memories, he turned back to her with that pained, painted smile. Something uncomfortable curled in her chest.

“Let’s check that foot.” She popped off the bed and knelt on the floor. “No blowjob jokes or I will throw you out of my window. It’s higher up and I don’t have any bushes to cushion your fall.”

He barked a laugh that quickly turned into a hiss as she worked his boot and socks off. She frowned at the darkening bruise coloring the length of his heel. He yelped when she tried to move it.

“Sprained, it should be better in a few days but you should still probably go to the hospital.”

He threw himself back, bouncing against the springs of her mattress.

“I can’t afford that! I’ll just expire here, in your bed.”

“You will not!” She laughed digging into her stash of first aid supplies. 

“Good luck getting your deposit back. The smell of human decay never comes out.”

“You’re lucky ballerinas are so obsessed with foot injuries. If it were anywhere else you could be bleeding out and I wouldn’t notice.”

“True. It could have been my hands.”

“Your hands are a gift from God and I would never forgive you if you injured them beyond repair,” she joked.

“I know many women who would agree with you for different reasons. Better to die than to live without in that case.”

Hermione bit back a response at the sound of something clicking. She had just finished wrapping his foot when she smelled the acrid scent of cigarettes. Her head shot up to see him lying against her bed, a smug smile tugging at his lips and a lit cigarette slipped between his fingers.

“What are you doing?!?” she cried.

His eyes blew wide as she lunged at him. He rolled at the last second to avoid being squashed and hobbled up on one foot.

“Come on. This could be my very last cigarette ever! I could be dying.”

“You are not! Put that out! You can’t smoke in here.” 

He held the dart high above her head, bringing it down for a quick drag when she misjudged a lunge in the small space.

“You are going to make me lose my deposit... And give yourself cancer in the process!”

“But I’m in a punk band,” he whined. “Smoking is part of the bad-boy image!”

Hermione cornered him by the door. She jumped using his shoulders as leverage to pull herself up, close enough to swipe her fingertips across his wrist.

“Be punk without smoking. The tobacco industry is very much still ‘the man’.”

“Fine, fine.” 

He took one last drag before stubbing out the butt in his coffee dredges and falling back onto the bed. She frowned at the mix of ash and the murky grinds of his mug before taking it to the one window and snapping it open dramatically. The heat rushed from the room, eliciting a yelp from Fred as she flung the sludge out, hopefully not hitting whatever poor souls were still out in this. 

“Shut the damn window woman. Do you want me to freeze?”

She closed the window with a heavy click, the air suddenly feeling thin and delicate as he shivered on the bed in his t-shirt. She raised an eyebrow and bent low on the bed, tangling her hands in her comforter, just to the left of his thigh. 

When she glanced up at him he was staring at her, his mouth dropped partially open and his eyes dark. With a victorious smirk, she yanked at the covers, sending him sprawling off the corner of the bed and quickly wrapping herself in the downy fluff and plopping herself in the dead center of the mattress.

“Ow! You can’t do that! I'm injured.” 

“Don’t smoke in someone else's house. This isn’t the eighties.” She watched him hobble back up with suspicious eyes.

“Damn, your feminine wiles." Hermione snorted in response. "Fine. I won’t smoke. At least share the blanket.”

“No way. I don’t want it to smell like an ashtray until the next time I can air it out. Maybe you’ll learn better this way.”

“Let it be known. I asked nicely.” He nodded sagely before his face broke out into a wicked grin.

Hermione squealed as he grabbed the bottom of the comforter and burrowed underneath. She felt his head bush against her calf, and then her back before he popped up behind her with a victorious grin and hair so staticky it was standing on end.

“Fred!” she laughed, adjusting her grip on the covers to allow enough slack for him to move. 

He shifted around so they were facing back to back, the heat of his skin leaching into hers. She knew it was a bad idea, that she should just get one of the afghans that had fallen under the bed. But he felt so warm and alive that she couldn’t bring herself to say anything. He didn’t smell like smoke at all.

“You insisted on the hard way. What would you have done if I caught frostbite, hm? These godly fingers would have to be removed.” He reached behind him to tickle at her spine. It set her giggling until she wrapped his hand in hers and held it down.

“Couldn’t have that could we?” she responded.

“Nope. I suppose we couldn’t.” 

He tugged his hand back slightly and Hermione knew she should let go. But no matter how many times she gave the command her fingers remained tightly around his. After a moment he exhaled a shaky breath, spreading his fingers so she could thread her own through them properly.

They sat in silence, the sound of a nondescript television show muffled leaked into the room. Her heart raced at the feeling of his skin on hers and she was sure that the room would be sweltering in no time at all with how deeply she was flushed.

The peaceful moment was broken by the sound of a familiar chime as her phone rang. She grumbled as she exited the blanket cocoon and she could have sworn she heard Fred curse under his breath. The caller ID flashed with Harry’s picture and she picked up as she made her way to the bathroom.

“Harry?”

“Hey, Hermione. You home?”

“Yeah. Just got back when the snow started.”

“Good good. Hey, listen. They're shutting down the city. Too much snow, the plows can’t keep up.”

“Gotta love winter in New York.”

“Yeah, no kidding. Hey, have you seen Fred? Ron says he’s not answering his phone and I know he's over by you.”

“Oh yeah. He uh… he was walking me home when the blizzard hit. He’s currently stealing all of my comforters.”

“Oh…”

“What?” Her tone was probably a bit more defensive than wise.

“Nothing, nothing. I’ll let Ron know he’s alive. Apparently, Molly has been freaking out. Ginny says she's making emergency care packages of canned fruits from the summer.”

“Lovely,” Hermione laughed. "I have a feeling those will feed me for three months rather than a few days.

“Probably!" There was a muted shuffling in the background as Harry clearly covered his phone to respond. "Okay. Stay warm and stay off the roads. It’s gonna take forever to clear this snow out. I’ll swing by if I can over the next few days. Need anything?”

“Stopped by the store before all this happened. As long as I have heat and electricity we won’t starve.”

“Alright. Catch you later Hermione.”

“Stay safe out there Harry!”

She hung up the phone with a click. When she slid out of the door Fred was thoroughly tucked into the comforter at the center of the bed with only his face poking out. He glanced at her in an accidentally remarkable impression of a cocooning caterpillar. When he smiled she felt a part of her melt. A few days, trapped inside her matchbox apartment with nowhere else to go. A dangerous premise.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Don’t act like you didn’t hear me. I live here, remember. I know the walls are paper-thin. Scoot.”

He begrudgingly opened his protective wrap but didn’t sit up. She rolled her eyes before settling next to him and letting him tuck the covers back around them. She was suddenly aware of how wonderful it was to face him. His crystalline eyes shimmering in the light reflecting from the window.

“Your mom is freaking out,” she said. 

“Yeah. I checked for my phone but must have dropped it in the bushes when I fell. Hopefully the battery doesn’t freeze.”

“Hopefully.” 

When he smiled down at her she made her decision. Feeling way too bold, she tucked her hand between them, brushing against his stomach as she moved her fingers to his, intertwining them.

“Hermione?” His voice was lower than usual. His eyes watched her with a sense of unease. “What are you doing?”

“Skipping the awkward part. We’ll be stuck here for days.”

“But-”

“Look. It’s a small apartment and we’re alone with nothing to do. We can dance around it for a while before inevitably failing and then just end up feeling like there wasn’t enough time. I’ll go back to dancing, your band will make it big and we can spend the rest of our lives wondering... Or we can just skip all of that and be sick of each other by the time the snow stops.”

“That seems a tad dramatic.”

“We live dramatic lives.” She smiled softly, resting her hand on his chest. He inhaled sharply, blinking down at her with an unreadable expression.

“What do you want Hermione?” His voice took on a growl and he shifted underneath the comforter. 

“Nothing really. I don’t have time for anything serious." She sighed, almost regretfully, but she needed to be honest. It was only fair. "I spend all my spare time working or in the studio. If that’s not okay with you, I can grab the afghan from under the bed and sleep on the floor for the next couple of days. No matter what you choose I promise I won’t be mad at you.”

Though she _would_ be crushingly disappointed. She watched his eyes flash, very aware of how their legs brushed against each other and how his thumb ran up and down her wrist. He licked his lips and tracked her eyes when they dropped to the movement. She couldn’t seem to drag them away even as he spoke.

“Just for now then, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she breathed.

“Guess I’ll have to take it.” 

His hand snaked around her waist and pulled her flush against him. His body was an inferno compared to hers and her muscles sighed with relief at the return of him pressed against her. She tucked her head against his chest, nuzzling against his neck as if it were as it were something she did every day.

Fred's chest rose and fell with hers and she took the chance to drag her finger across his collar bone. He was too thin for his own good, but then again they all were. Fred shuddered under her fingertips, his hand around her waist pulling her closer while the other one raised her face to his. 

He stared down at her in a way that drew a flush of red to her cheeks. His lips just barely parted with a general look of soft wonder as he pushed an errant curl out of her face.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” he breathed almost silently. “You sure about this? I am wholly undeserving and this is reckless as hell.”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

He did and this time she was ready for it. Without the numbing cold or the buzz of alcohol, she was perfectly aware of the way his lips brushed against hers in a cautious question. As if he was waiting for her to pull back and tell him it was all a joke. They were tentative and gentle, pulling away before she could do anything to respond. She growled and tangled her hand into his hair pulling him back. With him melting against her, her mind blanked of everything but his lips and strands twisted in her grip.

When he licked at her lower lip she opened for him, shivering as his tongue played against hers. Fred's chest vibrated, fingers tangling in her curls as he took control of the kiss. He lightly tugged back her hair, kissing down her neck and nibbling at the skin, sending waves of desire to settle in her stomach.

“A few days right?” he questioned, his voice deep and scratchy with lust. 

Hermione nodded numbly as he pulled the collar of her oversize sweater part of the way down her shoulder. She mewled when he kissed and bit at the spot just above her collar bone, hiking her leg over his hip and cradling his hand against her thigh. She brushed against his body, aware of the rough texture of his hardened length grinding through their clothes. He drew a small moan from her when his teeth sank into her flesh, sucking at the injured tissue until she was shaking.

When he pulled away he was panting, tracing the no doubt reddening mark almost reverently with his fingertips. His pupils were blown wide, the deep black fighting against the icy blue. Fred rolled them over so he towered above her, caging her in with his arms as his body melded against hers.

Fred returned his attention to her mouth, lavishing kisses of bruising pressure interspersed with soft almost chaste brushes. Her body sang but she was also impatient. She waited for him to press against her before raising her hips to grind into him. He stiffened and swore, staring down at her in warning. He was about to say something when she did it again, moaning lightly at the shot of pleasure it sent up her spine.

She must have broken through whatever he was holding back for. One hand shot down to grip the bottom of her sweater, peeling off the heavy wool and giving her barely a second to recover her before his lips were attacking the newly revealed skin. 

He licked the swell of her breast, glancing up at her to watch her reaction as she pressed up against him. He was both too much and not enough at the same time. She fisted the fabric of his shirt and yanked, dragging it halfway up his torso before his hand slipped under the cup of her bra, brushing against a hardened nipple.

Her movement stuttered, her brain unable to focus on anything but the raging heat settling in her stomach and the dampness between her legs. He looked pleased as he sat up, finishing the work of pulling off his shirt and staring down at her. 

With slow, deliberate movements he brushed one of the straps of her bra off her shoulder, his eyes watching her face as he tugged off the other. She blushed, shifting awkwardly under him. Hermione had spent enough time in the dressing room to not be bothered by her nakedness. But this was different. She knew he wanted her, but there was something heady and addictive about the way he was staring at her. Like no one else could ever possibly compare.

His hand slid behind her, fumbling awkwardly with the clasp. She was grateful for it and the way he swore. It made him seem more human. Like she wasn’t the only one feeling beautifully out of control and chaotic as they wrecked whatever previous relationship they had with the grace of a rampaging elephant.

When she heard the hooks snap away they both held their breaths. He stared at her, the last chance to back out before irreparable damage was done. She bit her lip and nodded, her eyes locked onto his as he looked down. He pulled the fabric away and exhaled sharply. 

“Fucking Christ.” 

Fred was staring down at her in awe, roving over her torso in languid passes. His hands curved around the edges of her breast, pushing them up as he brushed his thumbs over her nipples. The action elicited a high-pitched whine that drew his attention back to her face. He lowered himself back over her. His fingers plucking at the pert nubs as he kissed his way down her chest. Her attention was torn between the intoxicating feel of his skin on hers and the way his fingers deftly pinched and tugged on her nipples. A gift from God indeed.

Suddenly his hand was replaced by the warm wet heat of his mouth. She moaned at the sudden change, his tongue circling the flesh as his teeth nipped and pulled. Hermione felt his hand drift down her stomach but couldn’t even imagine stopping him at this point. When he flicked the button of her jeans open on the first attempt, he smirked against her.

“Don’t get cocky.” she panted, the tone more breathy than she intended. 

Fred pulled swiftly at the fabric, hiking it over her ass without looking as he stared at her face. His fingers ran over her bare hips, looking for a scrap of lace or cotton to tug at. His mouth turned down in momentary confusion when he pressed his finger against her naked folds. She took almost as much pleasure in the look of shock when he glanced between them as from the pressure.

“Dancer remember-” she choked out as he stroked against her. “Don’t wear those.”

“Warn a man will ya?” he muttered, his eyes glued on her sex as he circled her clit with practiced ease. 

Hermione moaned, opening her hips wider and throwing her head back at the shivers flooding through her body. He finally looked up at her as he slid in a finger without warning. She groaned as he sank into her, pushing inside and brushing against places that have never been touched so deeply before.

He pumped into her dutifully, occasionally pulling out to brush and pinch at her clit. He played her body expertly, pitching her high and low as he explored her. Just as she was about to snap, he pulled away. She whined at the loss, even as she heard the sound of his belt hitting the floor somewhere behind them. She swallowed roughly as he tugged her pants the rest of the way off before stripping his own. She forced herself to look at him, not wanting to hide.

The light shone behind him, leaking through his hair in impossibly small beams that seemed to lance her vision. She bit her lip as she took in the lean muscle of his arms and chest, honed from the years of the minute, detailed motions that came with his art. 

Pushing up, she ran a hand down his neck and over his breast bone before dipping down his stomach to trace the trail of hair leading further down. She bit her lip and allowed herself to look, mewling when he stroked himself almost proudly. A shiver rolled through her spine at the idea of something so thick inside of her, and so long she wasn’t sure it would fit. Part of that worry must have shown on her face because he tipped it back to him, lowering himself to whisper against her lips.

“Something wrong?” 

She bit her lip, not sure if she should say anything or if it would just scare him off. Ultimately it was the almost concerned, open look in his bright eyes that had her confessing.

“It just seems like... a lot.”

He glanced at her in confusion before following her eyes to the subject of the conversation. He smiled rakishly and purred against her lips, his hand tracing her inner thigh.

“That’s a hell of a review. Don’t worry, you’re soaked.”

He looked as if it caused him physical pain to say the statement. She closed her eyes unwilling to look at him as she stumbled over the words.

“That’s not… It’s just that-”

“You’ve gotta talk to me. If something is wrong we need to stop.”

“I know. I know,” she murmured, feeling his lips kiss at her neck, then cheek, then nose.

“Hermione, Doll. Look at me.”

She allowed her eyes to flutter up, earthy brown to his sky blue. This close she could see the lighter ripples and cracks shooting through his iris. A band of dark navy ringed the color, seemingly keeping it contained from spilling over and consuming her. She felt like she could spend the rest of her life seeing the world in only those shades of blue.

“What’s wrong?” he asked again.

“I haven’t…. There wasn't really time...”

“Time for?” 

Hermione bit her lip and glanced down, flushing red as she caught sight of him straining near her. She forced herself to look away before she did something embarrassing.

“Oh… Oh!... Shit.”

His hand was on her chin again tugging it toward him. She bit her lip as something feral crossed his face and she almost winced. Fred’s hand snaked back down her body to run through her soaked sex and restoking the fire as he watched her. He slid one finger in again but it suddenly didn’t feel like anything close to enough.

“No. It’s okay. I’m ready and-”

“Hush. Of course you are.” He nuzzled into her neck as he balanced above her. She groaned lowly as he coated another finger and slipped it in as well, stretching her walls.

“Please, I want to. Really-”

“I know.” He chuckled as twisted his fingers, letting her grow used to him. She squirmed against him trying to shake loose his hand so he would replace it with what she really wanted.

“But you aren’t-”

Fred nipped at her neck, causing her to yelp and focus back on his face even as he moved in her. It felt good but in a different way than earlier. Like he was trying to do something specific.

“Stop worrying. I am going to fuck you. There is no doubt about that,” he growled into her ear. She immediately stilled, keeping her small movements to just her hips. “I just need to make sure you are ready.”

He pressed his thumb roughly against her clit, panting as he patiently prepped her, refusing all attempts she made to grab at him and offer some relief.

“Not about me,” he breathed as he lightly pulled her wrist away from where she lightly grasped his cock. “Not his time.”

When he slid in a third finger she was ready to scream in frustration or pleasure she wasn't really sure. He chuckled softly, kissing up her neck to her lips. When he finally withdrew she was a soaked mess, wetness dripping down her thighs as he nibbled the skin of her jaw. He lowered himself flush against her body slowly, his skin still burning against hers. Her legs hooked around his hips naturally and she couldn’t help but notice how right it felt.

“Ready then?”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. His finger circled her hip drawing out the tension in her spine that she didn’t know she was holding.

“I’ll go slow. Just trust me.”

She glanced up at his eyes, letting the blue wash over her until she calmed again. She leaned up to press a light kiss against his already abused lips. She fell back against the mattress as she felt him rest at her entrance. 

Fred followed her down, locking his lips on hers to swallow the pained gasp that slipped from her throat as he sank in slowly. There was nothing to break, she had been dancing for years, but her body still rioted against the intrusion as he stretched her painfully. By the time he was fully inside her she was shaking, trying to adjust to the feeling.

“Shhh Shh. I’ll take care of you, you stunning, extraordinary woman. You just have to relax and I promise I’ll make you feel amazing. You’re doing so well. You feel incredible. Just relax.”

Hermione breathed slowly, letting his words wash over her and giving her time to adjust. When she finally could force her muscles to release she found that the pain was replaced by the immediate need to just _move._

She experimentally rolled her hips, relishing the way his careful touches on her hips turned into a grasping pressure. He screwed his eyes shut and swore under his breath as the curtain of his hair slid over her cheeks. She cleared her throat and caused his eyes to snap to hers. She had to resist the urge to cower under that look.

“I would like you to move... please.”

Her voice was small and wavering. More so than she had intended but it did the trick. As promised he moved slowly, giving her time to get used to each step until she was begging him to move faster. It soon became alarmingly clear why even the busiest women in the ballet corps still found time to date. 

“Please Fred.” 

He shuddered and his hips snapped into her, brushing against something deep inside her that made her hair stand on end. When she moaned loudly he did it again, watching her face with rapturous attention that bordered on obsession. 

She had never felt so valued and taken at the same time. When he shifted his hand down to rub against her clit again she moaned his name grinding her hips to meet his, each thrust pressing that spot deep inside her and brushing against the bundle of nerves. She felt that familiar tightness coiling in her stomach and was soon twitching around him. She was balancing on a knife's edge not sure where to fall.

“Let go, Doll. I’ve got you. Just let go.” 

She screamed as the tension snapped, pleasure rolling through her in waves as he groaned into her with erratic thrusts, no longer holding back his own release. When she finally wound down she felt wonderfully sated.

Fred hovered over her on shaking arms until she stopped twitching, kissing her lips even though she could barely make them respond. Eventually, she opened her eyes to find him staring down at her in painfully clear adoration. He pushed back her curls from her forehead with delicate motions, his fingers brushing against her forehead. She kissed his palm as he pulled away smiling weakly.

“You okay?” 

“Yeah. Just kind of… adjusting.”

“You need anything? Some water? Or-”

“Just lay with me, you ass.” She laughed and knocked an elbow from under him, forcing him to awkwardly collapse against her chest, briefly knocking the breath from their lungs. He rolled to the side, gazing at her with a deeply satisfied grin on his face. Before he could do anything else her downstairs neighbor made her presence known with that familiar tap, tap, tapping against Hermione’s floor. 

“Oi! Fuck off!” Fred yelled in the general downward direction. An explosion of Spanish flowed into the room, setting Hermione giggling as Fred tucked her into his chest protectively.

“You’re going to make my neighbors hate me.”

“She’s a cow anyway.”

“I wonder what she’s saying.”

“I speak a bit of Spanish… at least most of the swears and the general gist is that we're both going to hell and my mother is a whore.”

“Lovely woman.” Hermione rolled her eyes and settled back against his chest. 

Her body was already sore on her walk home and at this point, it was nothing short of exhausted. She kissed at the skin of his pecs, purring as one of his hands tangled in her hair and the other pulled the comforter back over them.

“That was wonderful,” she mumbled.

“Absolutely anytime, Doll. Anytime at all.”

She was broaching the cusp of sleep, her body more than ready to fall into oblivion to the sound of his heartbeat. She barely heard him when he whispered in her ear. 

“Thank you, Hermione. For letting me be something special to you.”

She would have responded if she hadn’t already fallen asleep.


	5. For you, and Your Denial

As usual, the Mariachi music came blaring through the floor at seven AM on the dot. Unusually, Hermione found herself tangled around Fred Weasley with her arms tucked between their bodies and him holding onto her for dear life. He groaned as he was roused from sleep, cracking open his eyes to glare at the ceiling.

“I take it back. The woman isn’t a cow. She's a straight-up bitch. Maybe even a cun-”

“Fred!” Hermione smiled as he pulled the covers back over them, wrapping them in warmth and muting the aggressive strumming.

“Nope. Too early. Back to sleep.”

“Let me up. I have to check if I have rehearsal.”

“Not letting you go if you do," Fred murmured, his lips tickling against her neck. "I most definitely need more of your skin pressed against mine. Permanently if possible.”

“Knock it off!” She pushed weakly against his chest.

“It’s cold out there. Stay here. Where it’s warm. And I’m here. I bet I can get you off before the end of the trumpet bit.”

“It’s Mariachi. It’s all trumpet bits.”

“Fine. I bet I can have her banging on the ceiling before the end of the next song.” Fred wiggled his eyebrows and she threw back her head and laughed appreciating the freeing feeling. When he pulled her waist closer she winced, suddenly aware of the dull pain in her abdomen.

“Oh, ouch,” she said.

He glanced at her stomach and frowned, releasing her gently to graze his hand across the skin.

“Sorry. Forgot about that part. You’ll probably want a shower. It’s supposed to make you feel better.”

“You do this often?” she questioned lightly.

“Not particularly. Only once when I was like sixteen but I was so paranoid about doing it right I looked up everything I could about it. Turns out it was totally unnecessary because I lasted all of a minute.”

“Careful," she said. "You just gave me some Grade-A blackmail right there.”

Hermione shook off his hands and hissed at the cold air against her bare skin. When she stood he was staring at her, his eyes resting on a spot at her chest with a causal look of pride.

“You can have anything you want, Doll. Just ask and I’ll get it for you.”

“How about breakfast?” she chuckled, pulling her robe off a wall hook and covering herself. “There are some sausage bowls in the freezer and a French press.”

“Something other than ramen? Que Magnifique!” 

Hermione rolled her eyes and wandering into the bathroom, leaving him to probe around the small pantry. She turned on the shower, allowing time for the hot water to run through the pipes. While she waited she pulled her phone off the charger checking her wealth of messages. Most of them were from the city and school, letting her know everything was shut down for the next three days. The rest came in a scattered array of text from friends and family.

**Tonks (8:25pm) Snowd n at the den. stayin open but dont bother coming in unless u bring booze**

**Tonks (9:18pm) How do u feel about cat cafe as a theme**

**Tonks (10:48 pm) Scratch that. against health code... ice palace?**

**George (9:24 pm) Ron gave me your number. I hear you have kidnapped my twin and I would like him back.**

**George (9:36 pm) Hello?**

**George(9:37 pm) Fred, blink twice if she has brainwashed you and turned you into leather shoes.**

**George(9:37 pm) She had swapped your brain with a chicken?**

**George(9:38pm) Has turned you into a Fred-skinned rug?**

**George(9:38 pm) ...Sex slave?**

**George (9:40pm) Well I assume you’re happy with the outcome then. Let me know you’re alive at some point.**

**Malfoy (5:15 am) Apparently this school has gone to the dogs. How pathetic that a bit of snow stops them. I am still practicing at the studio in my house and I expect you to be as well. If you embarrass me Granger I will never forgive you.**

**Ron (8:52pm) please tell me you have the other idiot with you? Mom is going insane.**

**Ron (9:20pm) im gonna tell her yes to shut her up**

**Ron (9:26pm) wrong answer. She and Gin are now planning a wedding. Sorry.**

**Harry (1:32 am) Cleared out for the night. I’ll swing by tomorrow with whatever supplies I can sneak.**

**Gin (9:21 pm) What is this I hear about my brother holed up during Snowmaggedon in your impossibly small apartment with only one bed?**

**Gin (9:24 pm) Hello? Explain before I start conjecturing.**

**Gin (9:20 pm) I am planning the wedding for March. I think you’ll look lovely in pastel blue.**

She laughed and responded politely to everyone, (except Malfoy. She called him a spoilt brat and asked him how she was supposed to do a stage routine in an apartment smaller than most bathrooms). George got a text to let him know his twin didn’t have his phone and stalwartly ignored what he was (correctly) implying. Finally, she set her phone back on the sink and got ready to shower.

When she dropped her robe she saw what had pleased Fred so much this morning. A light purple love bite splashed against the skin of her shoulder, marking her rather possessively. It was a good thing they were out for a few days, otherwise McGonagall would surely get on her case about ballerinas having flawless unmarked skin. Like makeup didn’t exist.

She slipped into the shower and the warm water certainly seemed to help. She lounged a bit longer under the spray than usual before stepping out with a sigh. She was brushing her teeth when the door slammed open, a half-dressed redhead staring at her in open shock.

“I forgot.”

“Wa?” She spat and rinsed out her mouth, trying not to panic at how pale he had become.

“I forgot a condom.”

Hermione instantly let out a low exhale, trying to calm herself while she screwed the cap of the toothpaste back on. “Oh, don’t-”

“Shit shit shit! I didn’t even pull out. This is so bad.” Fred's hands were pulling through his hair frantically as he tried to pace in the small room. Deciding to wait it out, Hermione rested her hand on her hip as he worried. When he finally talked himself into hunting down an open pharmacy to get some plan B she finally took pity on him.

“I’m on birth control you know,” she said.

“You are?” Fred looked at her in apparent confusion. “Weren’t you a virgin?”

“I still don’t want acne or periods as a dancer. Do you have any idea how bright lights highlight every tiny detail? It’s not pretty.”

“Oh...Thank god.” He collapsed against the door pushing his hair back behind his ears. Color flooded back to his face and Hermione might have been offended that he was so relieved if the situation hadn't been so amusing. When he finally caught her wry grin he cleared his throat awkwardly. “You should always use one though. Just to be safe. It’s uh… basically rule one.”

“You were never one for rules.” Fred flushed. “I knew you were safe because George can’t keep a secret from Ginny to save his life and if Ginny knew she would have told me.”

“I forget how much potential blackmail you can access,” he grumbled, pushing to a stand.

Hermione forced herself not to stare at the pale expanse of his chest or the severe dip of his hip bones where they fed into dark jeans. Judging from how low they fell he had forgone the boxers for now.

“And you just gave me more. I’ve seen you naked,” she muttered distractedly.

“That, my dear, is a privilege. You’re welcome.” Fred replied with a wide grin and a wink.

Hermione smiled and stepped out of the bathroom to find a messily compiled coffee ground soup and a breakfast bowl that was still cold in the middle. She raised an eyebrow at the redhead.

“Alright. So I was worried the plastic was going to melt when your microwave started popping. Also, I have no idea how the press works.”

“The microwave always makes a popping sound and let me see what I can do about the coffee. Take your turn in the shower.”

“Hm, I quite like smelling like you though.” 

She couldn't help the small sigh that escaped her as he circled his hands around her stomach and pulled her back against his chest. He nudged the edge of her robe aside and kissed the mark he had made.

“I’m mad at you for that.” Her tone didn't really sound that believable. 

“It’ll be gone by the time we go back to the real world,” Fred mumbled into her hair.

The phrasing stung, even though it was true. In a few days, she would return to being the driven, solo ballerina who barely had time to sleep, let alone time to date. She forced herself off that train of thought, choosing to enjoy what she could while she had it.

“You should definitely shower. Harry is coming by later to drop off some sustenance. I’m not saying he's particularly violent but the man does see me as a sister and carries a gun for work. If he were here for your little outburst this morning they would find your corpse suspiciously frozen in the snow with a broken neck.” 

Fred laughed but did pale slightly. She kissed him on the cheek before stepping forward to fold up the bed.

“Fine fine. I’ll go get cleaned up." Fred watched her for a moment before slipping into the bathroom. "I am looking forward to homebrewed coffee. My last visit here had bottom-of-the barrel wine.” 

“Well, there goes my plan for the night. I suppose you’ll just have to sit there while I drink since you're too good for three-dollar wine,” she called as the door shut.

“When did I say that?" came the muted reply. "I just said that it was shit quality. Which it was.”

Hermione shook her head as he turned on the shower. It seemed so domestic, a role she never expected to find herself in. She had never pictured a life for herself past ballet. Of course she knew that she would have to retire at some point. Even the best cared for bodies still start giving out at thirty-five. After that what would she do?

She glanced towards the bathroom shoving down that dangerous idea with the others and packing them away for later. She set about fixing the coffee with a smile on her face that was so bright she almost believed it.

0000000000000000

After a quick breakfast and a lazy morning spent with Fred practicing while Hermione stretched, they settled into a certain bored silence. They couldn’t eat since their food was limited and there were only so many naps one could take before they found themselves in a coma. Her laptop was dead and when it finally held enough of a charge to turn on she was bombarded with updates.

Regardless Hermione was getting antsy but a singular look out the snow-packed window cautioned her away from any walks. When Fred started digging through her closet and pulled out the scrabble board she was inclined to take anything to help pass the time. Turns out she should have been more specific.

“Calizar is _not_ a word.”

“Of course it is," Fred responded as he snapped the small wooden square on the board. "You are just upset I get to use my z.”

“No, you don’t get to because it is not a word!” she snapped.

“Yes, it is!”

“Use it in a sentence.”

“The calizar is an essential function of a tree,” Fred responded confidently.

“You made that up.”

“Prove it. Do you have a dictionary? No? I thought not.” 

He smirked and Hermione threw her hands up in the air and fell backwards onto the beanbags she kept hidden under the bed. They needed new filling and weren’t very warm but were otherwise serviceable. The material shifted and Fred settled beside her, throwing his arm around her shoulder with an easy grace. It was the first time since the morning that he actually touched her in a more than friendly way.

“Go away you cheating cheater,” she grumbled trying not to lean into him.

“Witty. You should write for the New Yorker.”

“I hate the New Yorker.”

“Doesn’t everyone?” he asked with a grin.

She scoffed but when he tucked his arm around her shoulder she still turned to cuddle into his chest. Hermione hated the odd clinginess that stuck to her now, like she couldn’t stop touching him but not feeling bold enough to reach out for him. She desperately hoped this is not what sex was always like or she would never get anything done.

“You okay, Doll?” Fred asked, his voice soft and gentle.

“Mmmm better now that you have conceded.”

“I did no-”

“‘Anything I wanted’ remember,” she quoted.

“Fine. I concede the game." Fred paused to kiss the top of her head. "But calizar is still a word.”

“Language is ever evolving. A cell used to define a small room in a monastery, now we carry them in our pockets,” she mused.

“But really, Hermione. How do you feel?”

She was about to brush him off when his face took on that soft, concerned look. It made lying to him harder than others.

“A bit sore honestly.”

“Damn it,” he groaned resting his forehead against hers. “Sorry I thought I was more careful than that.”

“It’s not just you," she sighed. "I have been working really hard on the spring performance for March.”

“I heard you had gotten the lead again." 

Hermione couldn't help but smile at how proud he sounded when he said that.

“From who?” she asked.

“A couple groupies who hate your guts. It’s lonely at the top Doll, remember that.” Hermione smacked his chest but he just pulled her closer, running his hand along her spine. “What are you dancing this time?”

“Right of Spring. I’m taking the position of ‘chosen one’,” she answered.

“Fancy. Sounds like a blast.”

“Well I get offered up to Malfoy and get sacrificed.”

“That fucking dick again," Fred rolled his eyes. "Do you always dance with him?”

“Not always, but he is an unfortunately good partner," she conceded. "For as much as he insults me he has never stepped on my toes or dropped me. Once he even fell with me when another male dancer mistimed his pass. Without him guiding us down safely I may have broken something and been out for the season.”

“There is a right way to fall?” Fred asked curiously.

“There is a right way to do everything,” Hermione quoted, using her best McGonagall impression. “And you are likely doing it wrong.”

“Was that the angry Irish lady?”

“Scottish, but yes.”

“Well she would despise me,” Fred said with a nod.

“Oh, she already does.”

"What?" Fred sputtered briefly. “Not that it isn’t valid but what did I do?”

“Last May when you dated Staci she kept ditching practices. When you dumped her she had a full blown breakdown and gained sixteen pounds in two weeks.”

He stared at her with wide eyes and she could practically see him flipping through the memories. His face screwed up in confusion.

“I don’t remember dating a Staci.”

“It could have been George.” Hermione shrugged, tucking her finger into the collar of his t-shirt. “She wasn’t exactly the brightest sort of girl and if I recall the dates consisted of a drunken hook up and a few text messages.”

“Your lot is vicious,” Fred commented, even as he brushed his hand against her cheek.

“Ballet is competitive. Not everyone can hack it.”

“That’s cold.” 

“Told you. We bite.” To emphasize her point she nipped lightly at his collarbone, pleased at his sharp intake of breath.

“And you look so delicate and pretty too.” 

Fred ran a slow hand up her ribs, stoking her new found desire. She shuddered, bringing herself closer to his chest and dragging her fingers up and down his thigh.

“Just don’t look at our feet.”

“Your feet? Wh-” 

Fred was cut off by a booming knock that made them both jump. Hermione stood to answer the door, only making it a step before it swung open, replaced with the image of her best friend with a large bag of groceries.

“Hope you're both dressed! I have wedding gifts!”

“What?!?” Fred had paled dramatically and was looking between Harry and Hermione in abject horror. Hermione groaned and buried her face in her hands. She had forgotten about that.

“Hermione!” Harry gasped in mock disappointment as he banged his hip against her fold up table, causing it to snap down with a crack. “Not telling the groom about his own wedding. I thought I knew you better than that.”

Harry plunked the bag on the table, quickly pulling out assorted goodies of varying degrees of use. Coffee, some fresh fruit, bread, cheese and deli meats made the cut as well as an obscene number of jars of Mrs. Weasley’s canned fruits and vegetables. A few rolls of toilet paper were appreciated but the pregnancy test and bulk pack of condoms could have been left out.

“Really Harry?”

“Always got to be safe Hermione, dearest.”

“Since when have I ever been safe,” Fred cut in. “Now what’s this I hear about marriage?”

“Yours of course,” Harry said.

“Never," Fred scoffed. "Hate the institution as a whole. I say we just have mass orgies in the streets and throw the children on a farm to raise.”

“I dare you to tell that to your mother,” Hermione muttered, shoving her phone at him. He clicked through the messages with a growing sense of amusement. 

“Sex slave you say?" Fred queried, staring at her until she blushed. "Well if you insist.”

Hermione scowled just as Harry snatched the box of condoms. 

“I was joking about these,” he grumbled suddenly on the defensive.

“And so was I.” Fred smiled before returning to their previously occupied bean back chair.

“So tell us, what’s the news of the outside world?” she asked.

Hermione poured Harry a cup of coffee, tossing it in the microwave as she put away their new food stuff.

“Snow, cold, ice, and more cold," Harry replied. "Honestly. You think we would have just built a dome over the city by now and been done with it.”

“But then how would all that smog get out.” Fred questioned.

“Everyone okay?” Hermione asked.

“George and Angelina were significantly less clothed when I knocked on the door. A detail I elected to leave out of my report to your mother." Harry shuddered. "Ron got lent to New York General for crowd control of essential services. Ginny is planning your wedding and Tonks nearly cried when I dropped off three bottles of whiskey. So… altogether good I’d say.”

They chatted over the shittiness of East coast winters and how much they wished they had holed up at Sirius’s place. As much of a rake as he had started out as, he had become very fatherly toward Hermione and also had a townhouse with a pool in it.

When his cell went off Harry sighed before tossing back the rest of his drink.

“That’s Kingsley with another wellness check over on Eighth. I swear, people don’t hear from someone for three hours and they start getting dire.”

“Or planning weddings,” Fred added. “Maybe we should invite the bitch downstairs.”

“What?” Harry asked, shooting Hermione a glance.

“Neighbor stuff,” she brushed away.

“Woman is loud and rude," Fred corrected. "I say you pop down there in your cute little hat and uniform and make it known that Hermione is your friend.”

“Fred, knock it off she’s fine," Hermione groaned. "This is New York. If you don’t hate your neighbors you aren't doing it right.”

“No, I’d love to chat with her,” Harry said. “Walk me out and we can swing by.”

Fred looked entirely too smug as the door closed behind them. Harry guided them to the elevator even though they were only going down one floor. She found herself fairly surprised when he paused the elevator by pressing the emergency stop key. Quick as a flash he whipped out his own keychain, flicking off the alarm with a twist of his wrist.

“Harry! What on earth did you do that for? The fire department is going to come looking for us!”

“Those assholes? No, they aren’t working out in this. Don’t worry I turned it off” Harry leaned back against the railing. “I love being able to do that.”

“I don’t take it that this surprise attack can be anything good?” Hermione questioned.

“Why is Fred upstairs in your apartment practically glowing?”

“I told you he got locked out.”

“Right." Harry pinned her with his best, 'I-know-you-are-guilty-just-confess-so-I-can-book-you' look. "And why haven’t you killed each other yet?”

“There is a blizzard outside, Harry." She stuck her nose in the air to try to hide as much of her face as possible. "There is nowhere for either of us to go if we piss each other off.”

“Mmmhmm.” His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “How about the next time you lie to me, you wear a turtleneck?”

Instantly her hand shot to her shoulder in alarm, only to see it covered safely in fabric with green eyes sparking victoriously at her. She frowned and tried to make it look like she was just brushing away a speck of lint. Harry laughed openly.

“Ass.”

“Transparent,” he responded carefully looking her over. “You okay? Or do I need to go throw him out of the window and make it look like he froze to death.”

“With a broken neck?” she laughed.

“Neck, face, spine. Same thing.”

“No. I’m fine. We’re… it's nothing really. We’re bored and stuck inside for a few days.”

“And that’s all?” Harry asked.

“That's all.”

“Is that what you want or what he wants?” he questioned with a dangerous edge to his voice. 

Sometimes it was hard to remember that Harry was by far the most dangerous man she knew. Trained for combat and ruthless when it came to his friends and family.

“It’s all I can give right now,” Hermione responded with a shrug.

Harry stared at her for a measure longer before pressing the lobby button. The lift shook to life, returning to the bottom floor without issue. 

“This seems like a bad idea but also none of my business. I’m here to talk if you need me though.”

“Thanks Harry.” She hugged him tightly just as the door binged open.

“Yeah yeah. I’m the god-damned matchmaker. I'll see what I can do about talking Molly off a ledge when I call her.”

“Stay safe out there.” 

She held the door open until he disappeared into the white. She hated seeing him go, never really sure if he would be coming back. Sure, he currently worked in a safe and quiet neighborhood but bad things happen everywhere and random chance was the NYPD’s worst enemy.

By the time she slipped back into her apartment Fred was flicking lazily through one of the books crammed in the two shelves by her door. They were mostly sheet music and position references with the occasional nod to fiction.

“Everything okay?” he questioned, setting the paperback down.

“I just worry about them.” Hermione's voice was smaller than she intended. She tried to clear her throat but even that sounded weak.

“Come here.” 

She let her feet move toward him, ignoring the part of her that warned her she was already pushing into dangerous territories. Still, Fred pulled her down, catching her waist in his large hands and guiding her onto his lap.

“He’ll be alright. He’s careful and good at his job,” Fred cooed, his rumbling of his chest soothing her nerves.

“I know... but that’s not always enough.”

“Then we will be here when they cart him home from the hospital and I promise you can be the first to yell at him.”

She felt a small smile pull at her lips.

“Even before Ginny?” she asked.

Fred grimaced. “May take all my 'favorite brother points' but anything you want, Doll. Anything at all.”

She waited a moment, enjoying the feeling of his body wrapped around hers before responding.

“But I thought Charlie was her favorite?”

“Hey!” 

Hermione and Fred bickered back and forth until Fred silenced her with a searing kiss. He pulled away cautiously, waiting for her reaction. She just rolled her eyes and tugged him by his hair back to her. They rolled around on the floor for a while, just enjoying the feel of one another’s bodies pressed against each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mariachi:  
> Wonderfully fun, albeit loud, Mexican music. Heavy on the guitar, brass and loud singing. Nothing quite wakes you up like a Mexican woman throwing on the vacuum and music full blast at 7am.
> 
> Plan B:  
> Not wholly relevant BUT you should know if you don't already. Plan B is an emergency source of birth control available at all pharmacies. If a condom breaks, or is forgotten go up to the pharmacist and ask (or demand if they are judgmental pricks) for Plan B then take as directed. We don't like unplanned, life ruining pregnancies in our fics around here!
> 
> Three-buck-chuck:  
> Or my preferred brand (Winking owl Aldi wine) is the bottom of the barrel low quality table wine. Personally I enjoy it quite a bit for your everyday drinking. However, because it is so cheap it is ubicoutious with hangovers and upset stomachs by some people. (Never had an issue and highly recommend to everyone of age.)
> 
> Right of Spring:  
> The Rite of Spring is a ballet and orchestral concert work by the Russian composer Igor Stravinsky. The 'story' is more of an interpretative dance than a plot that follows maidens through the forest. In the end a chosen maiden (who represents spring) is sacrificed to the elders to represent the cycle of the seasons.
> 
> Emergency services:  
> Elevators all have an alarm button. One rings a bell in house, the other calls the local emergency services to dispatch someone to your location. Usually Emergency Services have a key to shut off this alarm and also to force the elevator not to make any stops on the way down or up.


	6. Paper Walls

At some point they had fallen asleep and woken to a darkened window. Hermione quickly whipped up some real dinner on the induction stove top. It was far too healthy with not nearly enough salt but he didn’t complain. The flavor of the food hardly mattered after Fred rooted around under the bathroom sink and pulled out a dusty bottle of vodka.

“Jesus, is that thing from prohibition?” Hermione frowned at the clear liquid.

“Maybe.” Fred shrugged. “I’ll check to see if there is an XXX on the label.”

“I’m not drinking that. Who knows what is in it.”

“Well I’m bored and I am fairly certain that there are no calories in vodka.” Fred smiled widely as he dangled the bottle in front of her.

“Are you calling me fat?” she scoffed, swiping it from his grip and pulling out two teacups to fill. 

“No!" Fred shifted uncomfortably. "I just know that dancers are always hyper aware of their weight and...well... yeah...” 

She stared at him for a moment before she was unable to hide her laughter.

“Well at least you have more tact than Ron or Harry. I’d swear they took lessons from your mother on fussing.”

“Well you are too thin.” Hermione glared at him and he amended the statement. “But I suppose that’s part and parcel to the package.”

“It is,” she responded curtly.

Hermione popped open her freezer staring at an ice cube tray she hadn’t filled in months. Four lonely cubes were nestled tightly in their slots. 

“You’re in luck. I have some artisanal aged ice. This stuff has all the flavor of New York water in the summer.”

“So premium city water with notes of iron and _e. coli_ from your rusted pipes. Nice.”

“Shut up and take your drink.”

Fred and her toasted to dreams and snowstorms with wide smiled on their faces. They threw back the first cup in one go and Hermione cringed in disgust.

“God is that moonshine? I think I could use it to remove nail polish.” 

“Too good for a little country burn?” Fred poured them another cup but couldn’t quite hide his grimace either.

“How can you stomach it?” she questioned even as she took another sip. It was just as bad in small amounts.

“Well… Not to give you more blackmail, but George and I  _ may _ have built a still in the barn out back when we were seventeen.”

“I have never seen a barn at your house?”

“Erm… we _ may _ have burned it down.”

Hermione laughed and threw back the swill anyway. 

“If I die, I expect you to carry me to the hospital. It’s only fair.”

“If you die, I’ll off myself too. Could you imagine what my family would do to me?”

A few drinks later her cheeks were flushed and she couldn’t even taste the liquor anymore. A dangerous precedent that had Fred stumbling to hide it on top of the fridge where she couldn’t reach.

“If you have any more, you’ll puke and we can’t open the window to air the smell out.”

“But I want more!” she whined.

“I’m sure you do. But one of us has to be a responsible drunk and I have more practice.”

“Bah!” She fell back onto her bed with a sigh. The cheap springs bounced noisily and dug harshly into her back. She was fairly certain that the mattress was older than her. Fred fell next to her with equal gusto.

They stared at the ceiling listening to the ambient music of the city. For once the sounds were muted. There was no traffic, even the craziest of drivers were packed inside. Sirens still screamed distantly but after bouncing between buildings and echoing down empty streets they seemed much more ethereal than piercing. Pipes clanged as they moved heat and hot water through the walls of her building and through the window she could hear someone was blaring polka music. Somewhere down the hall a couple was fighting, their raised voices muffled but echoing with anger and frustration. Even with two feet of snow dampening the sound, the city would never be truly silent. 

“Never sleeps, does it?” Fred murmured.

When she looked at him his eyes were closed, his hands folded over his chest with a private smile on his face. Her heart fluttered at the image as he lightly swayed his head to music only he could hear.

“I love it,” she agreed.

They listened in silence, Fred’s fingers fingers picking at imaginary strings. Every once in a while he would pause and shake his head before repeating the same motion all over again with the barest adjustments. It occurred to her that he was writing and she was absolutely entrapped by the way his hands drifted through the air with practiced grace as if he were holding the instrument in his hand. 

They responded to the pitched voices of the hall rising and falling in time. The drum of shaking pipes and muted televisions provided a living backbone for him to layer his masterpiece on.

Hermione knew music, she knew art, but she wasn’t a creator. Classical ballet was a rigorous field, based on studying and memorization of steps. Her training was in repetition until her toes bled and her ankles swelled. To see something being created right in front of her was magic all it’s own. Suddenly there was a sound of glass shattering, followed by silence. After a moment there was a loud thump, likely the arguing pair falling together in a tangle of limbs.

His fingers stilled, the imaginary notes seeming to fade away into the air as he slowly cracked his eyes open. He turned towards her with a lazy, satisfied grin. When he spoke his voice was smooth and relaxed.

“Art is born in the shitty paper thin walls of a Bronx apartment.”

“Bit wordy of a title if you ask me.”

Fred smiled and rolled over to drag a hand through her hair, separating the knots as he came across them. It made the whole thing frizz up to unreasonable levels but no one else was there to see it so she didn’t say anything. Hermione could see the music dancing just behind his eyes, notes falling into place until a satisfied gleam overtook his eyes.

“Will you play it for me?” she asked.

“It’s not done.” 

“I don’t care.” 

Hermione didn’t tell him that she always loved to hear him play. Even during the holidays when he worked awkwardly through new pieces or simply played freeform while he tuned his violin in his room. She didn’t want to think about how these feelings had been brewing slowly, through tiny interactions they didn’t notice until she felt the call of a lonely aria drifting down 22nd street.

“Maybe later, Doll.”

“Later then,” she agreed, leaning into his hand. 

But when was later? There was tomorrow. And the day after. But that was it. Afterwards she would return to her life of rigorous training and he would go back to clawing his way to the top. She was too drunk to fight the thought, her attempt of pushing down the hollow feeling just resulted in it slipping away. It was only the fact that he was there now, painfully present that kept her from crying.

Hermione kissed him, because there was nothing else to do. She scratched down his back and pulled up his shirt because it pulled a sound out of him that made her feel strong and wanted. She quieted his protest when she pulled him on top of her because she wanted a chance to fill her mind with a lifetime's worth of memories even though they only had three days.

000000000000000000000000000

They woke late, tangled together with their skin flush. His wrist bone dug into her neck and her elbow was certainly jabbing at his ribs. But the smile on his sleeping face made it clear that he didn’t care. 

It took her a moment to realize that there was no music. Her neighbor was so reliable with her morning mariachi she hadn’t set an alarm in years. When she shifted against his chest his arms pulled her closer, his fingers dancing along the skin of her shoulder blades in the dim light filtering in from the window. She looked at the clock on her microwave only for the green analog letters to be completely missing. She sighed, the unusual quiet of the building letting her know it wasn’t just the floor breaker. Thank god she had gas heat.

She worked herself from Fred’s arms, missing the warmth the second she was away from it. An adorable frown pulled at his cheeks, even after she tucked the comforter back around his shoulders. 

Hermione gathered the candles Harry had left, as if he were some kind of wizard who saw this coming. The snow was still falling heavily outside but with little enough wind she could see the blinking red stoplight. Other than that, the world was white.

She tried the light switch in the bathroom, wholly unsurprised when it merely clicked in response. Instead, she lit enough candles so that she could shut the door and still see before checking her phone’s battery. She pulled it off the charger, relieved to find that it had charged enough to last a while. 

When she unlocked the screen the bright backlight nearly blinded her. 

**George (10:16 am) How’s my twin? I’m worried and Angelina is getting jealous.**

**Harry(5:32 am) Blackout across the whole borough. Bet those candles don’t look so stupid now.**

**Gin (11:16 pm) I have changed my mind. Winter wedding is the way to go. Much more poetic that way.**

**Ron(3:42 am) i officially hate everyone. a sore throat is not worth a trip to the emergency room. why are these fucking idiots out in this.**

**Tonks(3:23pm) Harry is the best god-nefew-cousin i could evr ask 4**

**Tonks (3:59pm) afd u I loiv u. How do u feal bout a nautical theme. I lk crabcakes**

**Tonks (4:47 pm) shoe esjpif eijs heoi**

**Malfoy (7:23am) I expect you at the studio tomorrow to make up for all this nonsense. We will run through this until you collapse then I will drag your corpse across the floor anyway.**

Hermione sent a response to Ron and Harry assuring them that they were appreciated. She ignored Ginny simply because she refused to sink to her level of absurdity. Rather than replying to the clearly hammered text from her boss she warned Remus to check on her. He was probably home with Teddy but was only half a block down and may be able to leave the toddler with Dromeda.

By the time she had jumped in the shower the water was steaming and warm. Hermione piled her hair into a clip at the top of her head and washed away the stickiness from between her legs. She had just rinsed off her body wash when the door cautiously opened. A low whistle echoed through the room.

“Romantic.”

“Well you know me," Hermione hummed. "I live for romance.”

“Mind if I join?” Fred asked.

“There isn’t much room.” Which was true . Most closets were bigger than her shower. 

“Guess I’ll just have to squeeze in next to you.”

**000Smut000**

When the shower curtain opened he stared at her. The candle light flickered across his hair, giving it the appearance of burning flame. His eyes roved over her, lazily taking in every detail as the water ran down her back. After a few moments she pulled at his wrist drawing him in. She held him close, the water streaming down his shoulders before running down her chest.

“Hi,” she murmured because it felt odd to just ogle him silently. He chuckled quietly.

“Hey.”

Hermione bit her lip waiting for him to move or do something. Instead he just stared at her with a bemused smirk on his face. The urge to explore him was too great and her hand hovered just above the skin of his chest.

“Can I?”

“I think we have blown past the point where you need to ask to touch me.”  Fred laughed. It was warm and inviting. The sound surrounded her in comfort and joy, pulling her own giggle from her lips.

“I just haven’t gotten a chance to really look at you is all.”

“What? Haven’t you ever seen a naked man before?” Fred questioned with one eyebrow raised.

“Of course… but this is different than a quick costume change.”

“If you insist.” 

Fred leaned back against the plastic wall of the shower, his hair darkened to maroon as little strands plastered themselves to his neck. He crossed his arms with a feral confidence that had her feeling like she was on the one on display. She bit her lips as she glanced down, her eyes roving over the wide expanse of his chest. 

Hermione ran her hands softly over his skin, feeling his pulse bounding just below the surface. They traced the chords of his muscles, the lean fibers twitching as her nail followed the path up his neck and back down the hollow of his throat. She pressed a bit too hard when she ran over his collar bone, her nail leaving a thin red strip blooming against his pale skin. He growled and she stilled her movements unsure of if it was a good or bad thing.

“Sorry. I’m still figuring this out.”

“Explore away,” he said. “We’ve got nothing but time.”

“But what if-”

“Worry about the what-if’s later. I’ll stop you if you do something I don’t like.”

She nodded, trusting him not to make fun of her as her hands explored his skin. She wasn’t a total prude. She had fooled around with boys in high school before her dancing got too serious. 

None of them knew what they were doing but there was safety in that because it meant they couldn’t laugh at her because she didn’t either. They were all short lived couplings, built up in stolen moments where parents left to get pizza or what could be pulled off on a hike through the woods. Leisure was not something that had ever been afforded and so she savored the chance.

Fred was patient as her hands glided down his chest, even as she saw his cock straining against her. She brushed against his nipples watching the way the muscles in his chest shuddered in response to her touches. Her fingers danced down the side of his ribs, eliciting a ticklish exhale as she smiled. She bit her lip feeling slightly emboldened as her fingers followed the angle of his waist down to his hips, tracing over the bone with her thumb like he would do for her. 

Hermione couldn’t help but smile in satisfaction when his breathing picked up. Feeling no rush she dragged her fingers over the thin skin of his stomach, running up and down the ridges until his hands finally fell to his sides. Taking the opening she leaned against him, licking along the fading pink line her nail had made. He hissed and she felt his hands twitch against her thighs before falling slack. 

Hermione licked and nibbled against the skin of his chest and neck, watching his face when the angle allowed for it. His eyes had drifted shut but every time her teeth raked along the smooth surface, his mouth pulled tight for a second. She cautiously bit at the base of his neck. When he moaned and his hands shot up to encircle her waist she smiled, licking her way up to his ear.

“I’m not sure how hard is too hard.”

Fred panted against her shoulder, his breath somehow scalding compared to the water still hitting her back.

“Fuck it. No one cares if I’m covered in hickeys. Probably better for the image actually.”

She took the moment to bite at the skin behind his ear, exhaling when his arms squeezed her a bit too firmly. Hermione worked her way back down his neck and chest, occasionally sucking at his skin and leaving a small trail of spaced out marks. 

It was while she was bruising the skin of his chest that she gripped his length in her hand. He jumped and swore, his eyes shooting wide to stare at her. She pumped him experimentally until his eyes drifted shut again, his hips occasionally twitching toward her.

Feeling entirely in control and bold she dropped to her knees and gripped the base of his cock firmly. His hand rubbed the muscles of her shoulders before moving up the base of her neck. She stared at him, only the slightest bit apprehensive. This she was confident about, this she could do. 

Hermione glanced up to find him watching her, a look of hunger in his eyes that had her shivering. She tentatively licked at the swollen tip, circling her tongue around him as he groaned and his eyes drifted shut. She took the momentary break in eye contact to slide him into her mouth as far as she could take him.

Fred dropped his head back against the wall with a thunk, his mouth forming a litany of curses that would have given her grandmother a heart attack. She hummed around him, working her tongue around his length as she pulled away. 

Her mouth took him back in slowly and his fingertips buried themselves in her hair, knocking loose the clip as the partially contained curls cascaded around them. He groaned as they brushed against his skin, bucking deeply down her throat. She fought back the urge to gag and continued to lap at him, letting him set the pace to one he liked.

One hand gripped him tightly, pumping in time with her mouth. She slipped the other to cradle his sac, rolling the weight in her fingers. All too soon his fingers tightened and his thrusts grew shallow and more erratic. Taking back control she placed an arm across his hips to pin him against the wall without dropping the rhythm. One of his hands slapped against the wall, his nails scratching against it as he yanked back her head and shouted his release, her hand still pumping as thick streams of seed landed on her chest. With a few more weak thrusts he collapsed against the wall, sliding down on shaky legs. She adjusted to allow him room, straddling his lap as the water rained down on them. He panted heavily, eyes barely drifting open as she settled against him. 

“Holy shit Hermione.”  He groaned, dragging his hands to rest against hers on his stomach. He eyed her chest hungrily and she felt him twitch against her. She laughed learning back into the spray to let it wash away his release and run through her hair properly. When she sat up straight again his eyes were dark and his hands gripped her hips almost painfully.

**000smut end000**

“In a bit,” she purred, her voice slightly scratchy. “I think my neighbors may actually kill me if I manage to use all the hot water in the building.”

“Yeah but-”

“There’s still time, right?” she asked. Her voice hitched, something she would blame on overworked muscles. Fred paused for a second to run his hand down her cheek.

“Right. Lots of time.” He nodded, sitting up and resting his head on her chest. His finger's twitched against her hands, as they always did when he lied. 

Despite her previous statement they sat there for a while longer, until her knees started to ache and her fingers pruned. Still she traced her hand through the wet silk of his hair, cataloging the way his breath felt as it rushed over her heart and the way he held her as if he would never let go.

0000000000000000000000000000000

Because she was a masochist, Hermione broke out the nail polish. After a quick lunch of sandwiches she and Fred spent most of the afternoon dozing in between rounds of lazy kisses and her showing him embarrassingly bad home videos her father had sent her on what little charge was left on the laptop. 

When it finally died she gave in, digging out the small box that held her three polishes. Hermione selected the baby pink and set about coloring her nails with clumsy strokes that resulted in more color on her skin than anywhere else. She resigned herself to rubbing acetone on her cuticles when Fred shifted next to her, taking the bottle from her. 

“Let me.” She raised her eyebrow in response but Fred just laughed. “Like I could do any worse than you have.”

“I’ll concede your point if you tell me why you even know I did a terrible job.”

“Easy. I’m not blind.” Hermione smacked his chest lightly before extending her hand in offering. He took it gingerly, balancing the polish on his knee as he dipped in the brush.

“You better not get polish on my sheets,” she grumbled

“I’m a classically trained musician. I am nothing else if not steady in posture. Did I tell you about that one time me and George proved that in high school?”

He coated each nail perfectly, not a drop of color out of place.

“No.”

“Well, we were performing a duet at a national competition in Carnegie hall. Great acoustics by the way. In any event we were halfway through the piece and we heard this massive crash somewhere behind us. Now, at these stuffed suit performances, everyone only gets one run through, no exceptions. Neither me or George flinched as we finished, even when some water puddled around our shoes. Turns out a fluorescent light had fallen and caught the curtain on fire. We didn’t even notice until we stood to bow and saw the audience evacuating.”

“You’re kidding,'' she gasped as he paused to blow on her fingers. His breath tickled across her knuckles.

“Dead serious. However the judges remained to the finish, though one of those penguins marked us off for not bowing properly.”

“What a dick.”

“That’s what I said! Mom was not happy about that specific language though.”

She smiled softly as he started a second coat on her other hand, fixing her patchy work. As soon as he had finished he grabbed her bottle of acetone and a q-tip, wiping away the pink lacquer from her skin. While he worked he told her about the time he and George had swapped instruments when playing a charity benefit.

“I had no idea you could play the cello!”

“Almost as well as my brother.” He smiled, setting her hand down and twisting the cap on the remover. “It wasn’t until three years later when we ran into an ancient concertmaster from Japan that anyone called us out on it. He thought it was very amusing.”

“I’m sure he did.” She smiled as he ran his calloused thumb down her wrist.

“Fred?”

“Hm?” he questioned, still staring at her hands.

“Why did you know how to paint nails?”

He smiled weakly.

“There was a time when I was twelve where I was sick of being a matched set. I loved George but we were the same person to so many people. Twin geniuses in our art, unable to even be separated when switched places. So I quit.”

“Performing?” Hermione asked.

“No, the violin.” She blinked slowly, fighting off the rant on the tip of her tongue.

“I decided I wanted to be a painter," Fred continued. "Mom was upset of course, but dad talked her down and got me an art set that Christmas. I painted until they ran out then I did work around the neighborhood until I could buy more. George looked miserable to be playing alone but I figured he would get used to it.”

“What happened?”

“Obviously I couldn’t stay away. I loved the music too damn much. It helped that I was absolute garbage at art.” Fred frowned deeply, dropping his hand to rub at her calf until she fell back into the pillows groaning. “Not that it mattered of course. Even when I entered something for the local fair I couldn’t shake what I was. I hid under the table cloth waiting to hear what people said about my creation.”

“Bad?”

“Worse. They didn’t even see it. They just saw my name," Fred sighed. The bitterness in his tone instantly infuriated her but there was no one to direct that anger at. "Every person who approached it all said the same thing. ‘Well he can’t be great at everything’,’ ‘I wonder when he will be back.’ and ‘He should really just stick to music.’... I went home before the grading happened and threw out all my supplies. They sent me a blue ribbon I didn’t earn in the mail the next week and I fed it to the pigs.”

“Fred,” Hermione sat up, unable to run her hand through his hair without messing up his work. Instead she nudged him with her foot until he looked at her.

“It’s fine," he said.  He folded his hands in his lap, a wistful smile tugging at his lips. Even when he was miserable, it was like his face didn’t know any other way to be. 

“Ginny noticed even though she was so young. When I went back to playing and it all got too much she would climb into my bed at night with her shitty Barbie brand glitter polish and ask me to paint her nails. The first few times I just did it to shut her up. After that it sort of became tradition.”

“But she’s not with you two anymore.”

“She doesn’t have to be. I grew up.”  Fred gazed out of the dimming window, the weak light catching the flash of wetness in his eyes before he blinked it away. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him tight to her body. She could feel him smiling against her forehead as he kissed it. But she suddenly didn’t trust that smile as easily as she once did.

“Not that I don’t love it," she hummed against his chest, "but why are you telling me all of this?”

He stiffened slightly before wrapping his arm around her back, holding her in place as he sighed. 

“I just want you to remember me when this is all over.”

She swore she could feel her heart crack in her chest.

“Fred I-”

“I know, I know. Just a few days.”

Hermione pushed them back against the bed, careful to retain the effort he had put into her nails. She settled against his chest, a smile she didn’t quite feel tugging at her lips.

“I could never forget this.”

She sunk low, molding her body against his as naturally as breathing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moonshine:  
> Homemade grain alcohol that burns like fire going down, born in the Appalachian mountains. Generally commercial liquor can't be distilled over 60% (120 proof) however moonshine is frequent made at 65%+. It is also incredibly dangerous as the process doesn't filter out things like heavy metals and other toxic chemicals.
> 
> Local Art:  
> Local fairs often have a showing where artist can insert pieces of all sorts to be judged. It's usually quite noncompetitive a bit corrupt.


	7. How I Go

The two of them dined on the peaches they had helped harvest over the summer for dinner. They squabbled over dishes until each party had reached a stand off, refusing to take their turn. Fred mostly ended the argument when he cracked open a mason jar and just dipped the last clean fork into the jar to stab a slice before putting it in his mouth.

“Mmmm, taste like summer,” he hummed.

“Give me that.” Her failed swipe at the jar drew an amused grin.

“Ah, say please.”

“Fuck off.”

“Try again.” 

She scowled as he skewered another slice, letting it drain before a mischievous smile made its way onto his face. He waited a moment before holding the fork in front of her, his eyes glinting brightly. A plump slice of perfectly ripe peach caught the weak candle light.

“What are you-”

“You better hurry before it drips all over your floor,” Fred teased.

Hermione lunged forward just as a syrupy raindrop hit the rug. She quickly closed her mouth around the metal, trying not to let her eyes flutter closed. He was right, it did taste like summer. Warm and inviting with the flavor of memories she was reliving in a new light. She loved summers at the Burrow, with its rolling fields and acres of trees that were perfect for sneaking off to practice in.

Hermione pulled back, trying to glare but judging from the resulting snicker she had failed. He took one for himself, watching her out of the corner of his eyes as he chewed… smugly. 

“I’m going to have ants because of you.”

“New York doesn’t have ants," Fred scoffed. "It has cockroaches.”

“You’re disgusting!” 

“And you’re adorable, open up.”

She ate too much. The sugary sweetness rolled in her stomach but she still couldn’t resist the fork full of fruit he carefully held out to her, his eyes soft and kind. The peaches could be rancid and she would happily swallow them anyway.

“Last one? Do you want it? Even though you made me do all the work.”

She laughed even as he handed off the jar. 

“I don’t believe you gave me much of an option. That probably counts as harassment in some states.”

“You are awfully rude to your guest,” Fred frowned.

“You are not a guest. You are a vulture who has invaded my home when I mistakenly took pity on you.” 

“Rude. Give me back that jar. You don’t deserve it.”

“Nope, it’s mine.”

Hermione stabbed at the last and largest slice and popped it in her mouth all at once to make a point. She instantly regretted the decision as the incredibly juicy peach burst apart. 

“Bite off more than you can chew?” he questioned one eyebrow raised.

“Mmmm mmm.” 

She shook her head even though she felt like she was drowning in sugar. Still she chewed, refusing to give him the satisfaction. In spite of her best efforts, a little trail of juice leaked out of the corner of her mouth as she swallowed.

“See, deliciou-”

He leaned over, capturing her lips in a searing kiss. His tongue rolled around hers, making her sigh as desire pooled hot in her stomach. When he pulled away he lapped lightly at the now smeared syrup at the corner of her mouth.

“You are full of images I will never forget today, aren’t you.”

She should have had the good sense to blush. Instead she was focused on the smear of stickiness on his chin. Her thin arms looped around his neck and she ran her tongue over his skin, licking away the last of the mess, before taking his lips with enough force he fell backward into the bean bag chair.

She heard the clink of silverware against glass as he swore trying to right himself. She pushed him back down, peppering kisses on his neck and licking at the possessive marks she had made earlier.

“Her- Fuck.” His hands gripped at her waist, holding her hips in place as he struggled to speak. “The jar- Ants.”

“I hate this rug anyway,” she breathed against his lips before sinking down to ravish them. She squeaked when he flipped them over, cushioning her head as he guided her back.

“You taste like peaches,” he groaned, tugging off her sweater. The last candle they allotted themselves for the night flickered out, leaving them in absolute darkness.

Not deterred by the lack of light he licked his way down her skin, pausing to nip at his mark before dropping to circle his tongue around her nipple in the way he had discovered she liked. The the heat of his body pulled away and disappeared into the darkness.

She glanced around in confusion for only a moment before his hands fanned across her stomach, quieting her worry. Practiced fingers pulled lightly at the sleep shorts she had selected after their shower. It was far too cold for them, but Fred had insisted and she couldn't deny him anything when he gave her that look.

“These are far too short to be considered clothing.” 

His voice wrapped around her, drawing heat down her spine as her hands searched for him. There was a moment when she felt his skin, before her hand was gently moved away.

“Shh, just lay back for a second. I owe you one.”

She was so hypnotized by his voice she barely noticed what was going on until he was gently guiding her legs open.

“Oh I don’t really…” 

“Really what?” His voice was somewhere above her.

“Well, I just don’t like it that much.”

She jumped when he nipped at her thigh, drawing a low moan from her chest.

“Hmmm. I have never met a person who doesn’t prefer it, even compared to  _ my _ fingers. Are you sure it was done right?”

“It just-” her voice caught he blew across her sex. “Takes awhile and isn’t that good.”

“Humor me,” he mumbled into the skin just below her stomach as he licked his way to her hip bone and back.

“But-” she hissed when his fingers fluttered briefly over her core. "A-alright."

She bit her lip, wishing she could see what he was doing as he settled between her thighs. Wide shoulders worked her thighs wider, forcing her open to accommodate his boyd. His skin slid against hers but it was all but impossible to tell where-

Hermione jumped as he placed a kiss directly on her clit. She let herself relax as he licked lazily around the flesh, occasionally running the flat of his tongue from her entrance to the top of her slit. It was nice but-

Her yelp cut through the air when he sucked at her, sending a jolt of pleasure clawing at her spine. She could feel him smile against her, glad he couldn’t see the blush she felt warming her cheeks.

“Oh,” she sighed as his tongue flicked against her again, suddenly much more confident than before.

“Just give me a second to figure you out and there will be much more of that.” 

He returned to his work, lapping and flicking at her clit until her hands were clawing at the carpet. Without breaking pace he drew one of her hands up to rest in his hair, encouraging her to wrap the silk strands around her fingers.

She mewled hopelessly as he fluttered over her, pulling and sucking until she was sure she was yanking on his hair to the point of pain. Hey body shook violently, moaning in disappointment every time he brought her close then pulled back to kiss down her thigh or hip.

“Please Fred. I can’t take much more of this.”

“Hm? I thought you didn’t like it.”

“I was-” he returned to her with a litany of aggressive licks and sucks, occasionally letting his teeth just barely brush against the swollen bud. “Wrong. Wrong. So very very wrong.”

A firm tounge fluttered over her, pitching her to the very edge once again but this time shoving her off so quickly she hadn't even had the chance to think. She was sure he was laughing but all she could feel was the hot rush of pleasure that swept her away as she fell apart. Her eyes screwed shut even though it was pointless. She screamed silently as if her voice box had forgotten how to make noise while all the rest of the muscles in her body contracted. When she was finally able to breath again slumped against the carpet, releasing his head from where it was trapped between her thighs. Quick spasms shot through her body as he took a few more indulgent licks, before pulling away.

“Fuck, you taste addictive,” he groaned, panting against her thigh. “Think you can give me another one?”

She squeaked, barely able to form coherent sentences in her current state. 

“I… you didn’t… but-”

“Something you needed, Doll?”

“You didn’t… go inside at all.”

“Did you want me to?” his voice took on that low tone that sent shivers up her spine.  She was sure the look he was giving her would have her melting apart. As her body came down she was suddenly aware of an odd sort of ache. The need to be filled clawing at her insides.

“I...”

“Hmmmm.” 

He lapped at her over sensitive sex again causing her to yank him up by his hair to crash her lips against his. He groaned into her mouth tasting of her and peaches. She guided him onto his back, stumbling through the darkness as she peeled off his jeans while he pulled off his shirt. 

“Why do I even bother getting dressed?” 

“A waste of resources really,” she agreed, settling back against him with a satisfied sigh. She bucked her hips lightly, letting his length slide down her sex as the bubble of heat in her stomach quickened.

“You’re going to have to help me with this,” she breathed, rocking against him.

“Doing a damn good job on your own,”  He groaned as he placed his hand on her hips, guiding her up while he lined himself up against her.

“I should really play with you a bit-”

She cut him off by bringing her hips down swiftly. A bit too swiftly judging from the heady mix of pain and pleasure as she stretched around him. He didn’t seem to notice as his hands shook against her hip bones, groaning her name softly. With much more careful motions she pulled back, taking just a bit more at a time until she was safely slotted against him. She took the moment to adjust, wondering if she could just sit there forever.

“And that would be why. Too damn tight,” he panted, running his hands up and down her thigh before pulling hers forward to rest on his chest, “You’re going to kill me if you just keep sitting there.”

“I don’t-” she raised her hips up moaning in time with him before sinking down again.

“Fuck, you feel amazing,” he hissed.  He rested the flat of his hand at the base of her spine, angling her forward. Her weight shifted to her hands, pressing against his chest.

“But I’ll hurt-”

“Hang on, I’ll show you.” His fingers skipped back to her hips. “Ready?”

She nodded before she remembered he couldn’t see her.

“Ready.”

His grip guided her forwards in a rolling motion that was less up and down and more rocking forwards and back. His hand slipped behind her back encouraging her to angle more sharply against him. She begrudgingly did so and was instantly rewarded by a sharp bolt of pressure as her clit rubbed against him.

“That’s it. Just like that. God, Hermione.”

She felt the pressure picking up as his hips jerked up to meet hers, falling into an easy rhythm. Her knees were getting rug burned and the light tinge of pain just fed deliciously into it all. In very short order she was twitching around him, her pace stuttering when she felt that tightness inside her begging to be released.

“I’m going to-”

“Don’t stop, Doll. Give me another. I love how you feel coming around me.”

She jerked her hips erratically, chasing something just out of the corner of her eye before it all rushed up. Her second orgasm was not silent and hit her with the force of a freight train leaving her shuttering and gasping for breath. Fred still pulled her hips forward finding his own release as he drove up into her, gripping at her ass.

She fell against him, letting him pull her to the side and tuck her under his arm. The rug was scratchy and a bit sticky near her feet but she was still floating in absolute bliss. He tucked her hair behind her ear before falling back with a deep exhale of air.

“God, I swear there will be nothing left of me when I leave here,” Fred groaned kissing her lips softly.

It was a joke but it sounded just the tiniest bit bittersweet to Hermione. She curled against him lying to herself that she was the only one who thought so.

000000000000000000000

“What about this one?” She inhaled sharply as his tongue ran over the thick white scar trailing from her shoulder to her breast bone.

They woke late again, the lack of blaring trumpets and maracas indicating the continuation of the worst black out New York had seen since 2003. According to Harry, none of the electric crews could get out to try to figure out what blew half the transformers in the borough . After that call, Fred had made the executive decision to pull her back to bed and spend the morning having sex for breakfast. Afterwards he had seemingly made it his goal to lick every inch of her body.

“Hmmm, that one was from the time your brother and Harry got way too drunk with me and we had to sneak them back into the academy without getting found out. We tried to get to the roof by breaking into the abandoned building across the street. The old suspension catwalk gave out just as Harry shouldered open the skylight. A tension wire caught me across the chest and wrapped around Ron’s arm.”

“I remember that one. Mom went back and forth between screaming at him and crying for three hours.” He hovered over her, grabbing her right wrist and pressing an open mouth kiss along the long faded burn mark that extended from her wrist halfway up her forearm. “And this one.”

“That was from the time Harry was too busy staring at your sister to realize his milk was about to boil over. I knocked him out of the way before it fell down his chest but caught my arm on the machine.”

He smiled, his eyes lazy and kind as he kissed the small white scratches on her knuckles.

“This one?”

She smirked.

“That’s from when I punched Malfoy freshman year when he said I slept my way into the school.” 

Fred laughed, rolling onto his back and pulling her with him. She let her hands run over him, trying to chart every inch of his skin while she still could. The snow was already easing up and she could almost make out the building across the street. He would definitely be able to head home tomorrow, maybe even tonight.

Her fingers danced over his chest, wishing she could press hard enough to leave her fingerprint on his very soul. Instead she sighed, letting them rest of the tiny raised flecks peaking around his ribs and covering his back. His chest shook as he noticed.

“You were there for that one.”

She remembered the day clearly. She had just exited a class on music theory when the building shook. Hermione had rushed down stairs only to find the wall collapsed into the hall and a mangled hunk of metal that once was a hot water heater still billowing steam from it’s pipes. She darted into the classroom on the other side, tripping over rock and shattered glass. George was in pieces, ripping the rubble from Fred’s unconscious form in sheer panic. She joined him, her own hands streaked with blood as she ripped at the jagged concrete. By the time the paramedics had shown up George had clutched his twin to his chest, in pained silence.

Fred was so injured that they weren’t sure he was going to make it and George didn’t move from his side for ten days, his cello sang a mournful tune through the hospital calling for its other half. On the eleventh, Fred woke, surrounded by family and friends with a joke about being too hot to handle.

It was terrifying then but looking back on it now it felt like a hole had been ripped out of her chest. She pulled her fingers away as if they were burned, burying herself into his chest to listen to his heart beat. She couldn’t explain the silent tears dripping down her cheeks.

“Hermione? It’s not that ugly is it?”

“No of course not... I just- Just let me lay like this?”

Fred's breathing halted and she felt his jaw tighten for a moment.

“Anytime, Doll. Whatever you want.”

He pulled her closer, petting over her curls and humming. The sound vibrated through his rib cage, transferring through her cheek until the irrational tears stopped falling. Maybe it was a good thing he was leaving. This was all getting to be too much, too real. She needed some distance to center herself again.

“Sorry,” she laughed weakly, sitting up to wipe the tears from his skin and her cheeks. He pushed up from the mattress, trailing a hand softly down her jaw.

“Don’t worry about it. Are you okay?”

“Don’t worry about it,” she tried to force a laugh but it was hollow and pathetic sounding.

“Hermione, love?”

“Don’t.” She couldn’t listen to that soft tone as he said that word. “I’m fine really. Just a bit crazy from being stuck inside.”

“That’s fair,” he conceded, taking her hand in his. His face still looked worried but he didn’t pry. “Can I do anything to help?”

“Expand this glorified water closet to something I can dance in?”

“I do not have the power to bend space-time. Sorry.” He pulled up her hand and kissed her fingers softly before offering her a goofy grin. “I can give you another orgasm if you'd like.”

That drew a real laugh from her as she tugged her hand away.

“Keep that up and I’ll never let you leave. I could chain you to the pipes like George suggested.”

“I’ve created a monster.” He closed his eyes and nodded solemnly before cracking one eye open. “And she's really kinky.”

“Fred!” She squealed, throwing herself and him back onto the mattress kissing along the thick layer of stubble growing out on his neck.

“Have mercy please.” He kissed her soundly, letting the last of her fear trickled away. "I cannot continue to feel your endless appetites."

“Oh yes” she hummed against his lips. “You clearly don’t want this.”

He growled grinding her hips down against him. She shivered, her body already responding even though they had barely finished a half hour ago.

“Careful there, Doll. That’s a dangerous game you play.” He kissed her one last time before guiding her off of him. “You go ahead and shower, I’ll give this whole coffee thing another shot now that I know how to use the weird sieve thing.”

She scooted off toward the shower, leaning into him when he ran a hand down her bare back and around her ass. His eyes darkened before he shook his head and turned back to the kitchen.

She shut the door behind her, checking her phone that now lived on the charger, just in case.

**George (9:32 am) Hey Fred. Call me.**

**George(9:34 am) That was rude. Hermione. Have Fred call me.**

**George(9:34 am) No seriously this is big.**

**George (9:35 am) Can’t you tell? I’m up before ten. Massive I say!**

**Harry (11:10 am) Looks like it’s lightening up. Some plows were able to get out.**

**Harry (11:46 am) Ginny wants to know if you prefer carnations or sunflowers.**

**Harry( 12:02 pm) Hermione? Did your phone die?”**

**Missed call: Harry 12:13pm**

**Harry (1:32 pm) How in the hell aren’t you awake yet?**

**Malfoy(6:23 am) That’s it. Come to my place in Manhattan. And you better have not been eating because you were bored, you are fat enough as is.**

She responded as to the various messages encroaching on her perfect isolated little world with a frown. Malfoy got a snippy reply telling him that the subways were closed and the last place on the planet she wanted to be was stuck in a house with him. After that she turned the device off before slipping into the shower.

By the time she exited Fred was sitting with his legs crossed on the counter, his case open next to him and some scattered reams of sheet music pinned against the side of the fridge.

“Hey.” 

He offered her a cup of mostly drinkable coffee as she glanced around the room. He had piled the bean bags on top of the book cases and picked everything up off the floor for some reason.

“Hey yourself. Any reason you felt like redecorating?”

“Cabin fever?” he suggested with a shrug. “I may not have the power of the universe, but I think I can do some manual labor to give you a bit of room to dance. I know it’s not perfect but I found your sheet music for the Rite of Spring and thought I could play a bit for you.”

“That’s piano music though.” 

“I’m pretty sure I can stumble my way through.” He wiggled his fingers at her. “Genius remember.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and glanced around the small 15 by 15 foot space trying to work it out in her head. She would have to cut at least half the routine and certainly all the difficult moves like the grand jete. But it was better than nothing, plus the power was still out. She grabbed her shoes from the bag hanging by her door and slipped them on.

“I’d love to… if you don’t mind.”

“Anything you want love,” he whispered, tucking the rest of his violin under his chin. “Anything at all.”

To his credit he didn’t slip. It wasn’t perfect. She could tell he was making up parts that were missing notes and completely going off script when the instruments didn’t harmonize, but he was still able to keep the theme of the piece. When she asked him to restart or go over a section he had just finished, he did so without complaint. They practiced well into sundown before she noticed the day had been eaten away and his hands were trembling.

She gasped and pulled him from the counter, all but throwing him into a bean bag chair.

“I’m  _ so _ sorry. I lost track of time.”

“I can tell,” he chuckled.

Fred rubbed his neck and tried to hide a wince. She slapped his hands away and settled on the floor behind him, her muscles pleased by the warm up after a few days rest. She attacked his shoulders and neck with practiced hands, rubbing the tension out of them until his head lulled back to stare at her with half hooded eyes. It was their last day together and she had wasted it, giving it over to ballet at the first opportunity to present itself. The thought served as a stark reminder of why it was important that he was heading home tomorrow.

“I will absolutely be your sex slave if I can get you to do this once a day,” Fred groaned unaware of her inner monologue. 

Hermione smiled and shook her head, leaning forward slightly to rub out his chest as well. She recognized the way the muscles twitched under her touches from grueling days of practice. He must have been exhausted.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Moving to his side, she grabbed his hands lightly, working into the thick muscle of his palm. Even with his calluses she could see the tiny drops of blood welling up on his fingers.

“I just loved watching you dance. Couldn't help myself,” he mumbled.

“Stupid boy.” 

She kissed him anyway, milking the tension away from his tendons. Tomorrow she would- No she wouldn’t. Because tomorrow he had to go home. She set his hands in his lap, leaning back on her toes, her muscles reminding her of the lack of a cool down stretches. He groaned, his eyes creaking open.

“Mmmmm," he hummed. "Too jello to think of a clever response right now.”

She moved to the center of the carpet, stretching out her body and reaffirming her range of motion. After a while she realized he was staring, his eyes tracking each movement hungrily.

“Can I help you?” she asked primly, leaning on the bookshelf as she stretched her leg above her.

“I forgot how flexible you are.”

“That’s part of the whole ballet thing. Grace... Flexibility… unhealthy obsession.”

“I find it… inspiring.”  A dangerous little smile wound its way onto his lips. She let her leg fall back into place, switching it out for the other.

“I’m not touching you until you take a proper rest," she chided. Despite her tone, she was still unable to hide her pleased smile. "Go shower and then we will talk after dinner.”

“Is it dinner time already?” he questioned rising to a stand with a groan. She glanced out the window into the darkness.

“I don’t know. Probably?”

“Fine fine.” Fred shook out his shoulders, not even bothering to wait until he entered the bathroom before peeling off his shirt. He shot a dark look over her shoulder that she felt in her toes. “Don’t think I am done with you yet, Granger. I have barely begun to consider the possibilities.”

The bathroom door shut with a click and she heard the water kick on. She waited until she heard him groan as the spray hit him before exhaling softly. She placed a hand on her hip and stared at the wood as he hummed _Dance of the Earth_ , the sound echoing through the air. 

She smiled to herself. He had a terrible singing voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grand jete:  
> THEE ballet jump. It requires leaping into the air and pulling the dancer's legs into a perfect split midair. In addition, the body must be turned toward the balcony, toes must be pointed and face but be serene. It requires a lot of flexibly and without proper conditioning can result in injury or loss of ability.
> 
> Violin rest:  
> The little black part on the bottom where players tuck their chins to hold the instrument while they play.
> 
> Piano vs Violin:  
> Sheet music is specific to the instrument played. You cannot pick up a piece of piano sheet music and play it on your trumpet. However, if you can read it and know what the piano should sound like you can infer what your instrument should should like in return. That being said it is very difficult to sight read music (play off of sheet music you haven't heard or practiced before), let alone infer your own instrument from it as well.
> 
> Dance of the Earth  
> A scene from the Rite of Spring in which Spring is celebrated and people dance and couple before the second act (depicting the death of Spring) begins.


	8. You, Me and One Spotlight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tons of ballet terms this chapter.
> 
> Sorry it was bound to happen.
> 
> In the notes section or just make up your own definition.

It was well into an evening spent constructing towers from scrabble pieces when she remembered her earlier text.

“Oh by the way, George wants you to call him. He had big news apparently.”

  
Fred threw in the last slice of apple into his mouth before standing. In spite of the cold he had only tossed on his jeans, complaining that his shirt would be too dirty to wear home when he had to leave and there was no point anyway. Hermione was pretty sure he just liked watching the way her eyes were drawn to him every time he stretched.

She grabbed her phone from the bathroom and pulled up George’s contact info. She let it ring once before handing it off to Fred. 

He slid into the bathroom, just as George picked up. Greeting his twin in a compilation of words that may have been English or old Latin. She slid in her ear buds, giving him privacy as she mentally ran through the steps of her first scene in Rite of Spring.

It was approximately ten minutes later when she realized sound had stopped vibrating through the wall. About five minutes after that Fred emerged slowly, a troubled look on his face. She paused her music and stood.

“Everything okay?”

“I’m heading out.”

“What?" she asked. "It’s still dumping snow out there. You won’t make it more than two blocks before you freeze.”

“I’ll be fine,” he grumbled.

“Is someone hurt? Are George and Ang-”

“They’re fine. Everything is fucking fine.”

“Jesus.” Hermione held her hands up. “What had gotten into you?”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll get out of your hair. Let you get back to your life.”

“What? Fred what are you-”

His eyes met hers, a hot anger just behind the surface. She flinched and the smallest shred of guilt dripped onto his face before he wiped it clean. He glared at her as he pressed her cell into her hand.

“You got a text.”

When he pulled away she had to force herself to look down. It felt dangerous breaking eye contact with his quiet rage still simmering under the surface. She checked the dim screen, her newest text emblazoned across the front of it.

**Malfoy (6:54 pm) I’ll send a car. Just come dressed for me in that black number you wore last week. And for the love of God tie back your hair or something. I hate it when it gets in my mouth.**

She looked up and he was staring at the floor as if he could set it on fire. His jaw clenched tightly mirroring his knuckles.

“Seriously? This is what you’re upset about.”

“Just a few days, right Hermione?” Fred replied darkly.

The coldness sounded out of place in his voice. Like stumbling across a cave in the middle of summer. It didn’t fit him at all.

“Fred you’re being ridiculous. There is nothing going on with me and Malfoy. Look at the damn text chain.”

“I don’t need to see the text chain. I don’t give a shit if you’re fucking around with Malfoy.”

“I’m not and obviously you do.”

“I don’t,” he growled, snatching his jacket from the rack by the door. “Where’s my goddamn shirt?”

“Probably wherever the better part of your personality went. If you find it please bring it back.”

“Shut the fuck up, Hermione.”

“Don’t fucking talk to me like that.”

“Or what? You’ll never speak to me again?” he hissed, pinning her with a heated glare before looking away. “Boo-freaking-hoo.”

“Fred. Stop it. You’re being hurtful.”

“What do you care?” he shot. “It’s just a quick fuck for a few days right. Nothing messy or permanent?”

Hermione inhaled sharply, those weird sticky feelings that had been floating about them stalwartly pushed away and ignored were congealing, trapping them in just as effectively as the snow.

“Come on," she pleaded. "Don’t do this.”

“Why the in hell not?”

“It’s not fair to me.”

“It’s not fair to anyone. Seeing that text just reminded me that this was all isolated. That once the snow melts this will be over. Even Malfoy of all fucking people will get to see you more often than I will.”

“He’s in my program. Of course-”

“It’s not about that cocksucker Malfoy. God!” He threw his hands up in the and attempted to pace the room before figuring out that it was too small. “I just realized that this is all just few fucking days where I get to have you before we return to the _real_ world and I can’t do it.”

“Don’t-”

“No. It’s true. I’ll go back to seeing you in passing, maybe not even that because we don’t go to the same school anymore and after this outburst I doubt you’ll want to make time for one of our shows. For the first time I am regretting dropping out because it means I can’t find a way to throw myself in your path. And I know I sound like a goddamn head case but I can’t help it. ”

Her heart ached to comfort him, the emotions she had been pushing down bubbled up again with a vengeance. She knew she couldn’t though. It crossed a line she couldn’t stand behind once the snow melted.

“You knew it was all I had to give at the start of this.” Her voice was meek, never having been one to fight past this first blow of pain.

“Of course I knew. But it’s different now.”

“Why?”

“Because now it is staring me in the face.”

She fell silent as he continued to glare, anywhere else but her. She shifted awkwardly, trying to figure out the right words to say that would put them back where they were five hours ago. 

“I can’t change what I am.”

“You could fucking  _ try _ . I am not asking you to give up your dreams, Hermione. I am just asking if you want to date.”

“Fred. I can’t be a partner right now.” When he opened his mouth to speak she cut him off. “No. Listen. I spend every waking moment of my life dancing or working. There are some nights when I get home and have sleep for dinner because I am too exhausted to even be hungry. My friends constantly complain that I work too hard and they never see me. I can barely keep myself alive, what makes you think I can manage to keep you happy?”

“Christ Hermione, don’t you get it? I know all that. I don’t want you to give it all up. I’m not asking for much. We don’t need a whirlwind romance with long walks on the beach. I can just be around when you need me. “

“You would feel pushed to the side, because you would be," she corrected. "We would just start having more and more fights like this until you grew to resent me. So please. Just let this be what it is.”

“I want more and I know you do too. How can you not feel it?”

She didn’t like that tone in his voice. The soft pained sound a wounded animal made. She had a sinking feeling of what was coming next.

“Fred. Don’t.”

“But I-” 

“Stop. You’re angry and trapped and it’s confusing you. You’ll look back on this in a few days and laugh yourself silly over it.”

She shook her head violently, letting her hair cover her face. Her hand grasped blindly for the door knob.

“Don’t tell me how to feel Hermione. You don’t get to just say no to this. It doesn’t work that way.”

“Well I am,” she said with a shaky voice.

“Fine then. You are. But I still l-” 

“No!” She ripped open the door so hard it slammed against the wall. She grabbed her boots before charging down the hall towards the stairs.

“Hermione, wait!”

She ignored the sound of him swearing as he looked around the apartment for his clothes and shoes. Turning to the right of the elevator, she shouldered open a door and ran up the stairs. She didn’t hear anything behind her but she still kept running, letting herself focus on her screaming muscles rather than whatever nonsense he was about to say. Her breath was ragged when she ran out of stairs, the door to the roof taunting her. Fresh air flowed into the confined stairwell around poorly sealed cracks, stoking her need to escape. She should have run down, down and outside into the snow that started all of this.

In a rage, she tried the knob, screaming in frustration as it loosely shook in place but stubbornly remained shut. She pulled on her winter boots and kicked at the metal, no doubt alerting the whole building to her vandalism in the process. She let the years of pent up frustration out as she beat at the door. Dancing was her life and she loved it, but love wasn’t always easy. Sometimes it meant giving up something you really wanted for the endgame you just had to hope was worth it.

With one final kick the latch snapped and the door swung outward a few inches before being stopped by the snow. She threw herself against it, her weight forcing it open just enough that she could slip through, falling into a world of white. 

The sky was heavy with cloud cover, blocking out the moon and stars. With the exception of the emergency light from the stairwell, she was surrounded by darkness. She took deep dragging breaths, letting the shock of cold ground her. The snow easily covered her knees, making her movements slow and labored. She stomped her way back into the stairwell, grabbing the cracked plastic shovel tucked in the corner. 

In what would later be thought of as a fit of hysteria, she set about clearing the heavy wet drifts from the roof. She pushed whatever was in her way to the side, clearing out a space just barely the size of a small stage. The work was hard, and though it kept her muscles burning against the frigid air, she wished she would have thought to bring a coat. 

She was only a quarter of the way done and already regretting her decision when she caught a flicker of red and gold by the door. She paused her labor of insanity to stare at her thick down parka and frayed golden scarf her mother gave her from Christmas last year. She begrudgingly pulled them on, eyeing the footprints that were too big to be hers before resuming her clearing.

A few minutes later the sound of a second shovel joined her. She didn’t bother stopping when Fred passed her going the opposite direction, her muscles shaking as she threw another shovel full off to the left. By the time they met in the center his cheeks were flushed red.

“I’m sorry,” he huffed, shoving the last of the snow from the middle of her impromptu studio.

Hermione wanted to keep fighting. She really did. It was easier to let the anger drown out the other uncomfortable emotions she couldn’t let herself feel. But her body was tired, and he looked so sweet even after shoveling a ton of snow off her roof without even asking why.

“No. I’m-”

“Stop it. I was being irrational,” he sighed, unzipping his jacket at the neck to cool down. She spoke, if only to stop herself from staring at the dark bruises she had left on his neck.

“I just…I can’t have more. We can’t be more than this. I wish we could but... I’m sorry.”

“And I’m ruining the whole damn thing aren’t I?” he questioned leaning on his shovel. She recognized it from the lobby and hoped that he asked permission. He looked boyishly handsome, his hair windswept and a self deprecating smile painted on his face.

“No... But you are making it impossibly hard.”

“I’ll try to stop doing that.”

She shook her head and smiled weakly. “Then you wouldn’t be you. You like things your own way, and it’s usually the harder for it.”

“Me?" he asked with a laugh. "I suppose you have a reason for chucking a thousand square feet of snow off your roof.”

“I was going to practice but now I’m so tired I think I may just get all the steps wrong.”

“Who cares?”

“I do,” she responded, affronted. 

“Then make it up as you go. Dance something else, something only you could.”

“I don’t do modern ballet,” she scoffed, letting him take the shovel from her.

“But you could."

“I don’t even have mu-”

Fred smiled broadly, his eyes shooting toward a case leaning against the wall. He sauntered across the cleared space, snapping open the latches and leaning against the slight outcropping from the stairwell, trying to keep clear of falling snow.

“What do you want to hear?” he asked.

He tucked the rest under his chin and ran the bow across the strings until they sang. Hermione wanted to be snippy or too shoot off some snappy comeback. It felt much too easy to just let her anger melt away. But when she saw the gentle way his hands held the violin’s neck she felt her heart flutter.

She thought for a moment, watching the snow fall around them, blocking out the buildings and sounds of the city until it was just them. The wood of his instrument caught the amber light from the stairwell, flashing the same copper as his hair.

“It’s later.” She shot him a challenging look as he puzzled out her meaning. When he finally picked it out he smiled and pulled his chin away from the rest. His gaze softened as he watched her.

“It’s not not done yet.”

“Make it up as you go.” 

She stuck her tongue out at him as he laughed. She sashayed to the center of the cleared space, setting her feet into fourth position, one hand raised above her with the other curling over her stomach. When she just looked at him expectantly he just shook his head before tucking the instrument back under his neck.

The first notes were misplaced and stuttered, like he hadn’t worked out the beginning. A frown pulled at his face, clearly uncomfortable about presenting an unfinished piece. She closed her eyes centering herself. She could wait for the music to guide her or she could inspire her own magnum opus, hidden away from the world that would never see it.

Hermione took the first jump, both figuratively and literally. She settled into a demi plié before leaping forward with his next note, stretching her tired legs. His bow stuttered, coughing out another short note just as her right foot hit the frozen asphalt of the roof heavily. 

She was awkward in her movements, her hair scattered about and in clothes that hid the fine, graceful movements that made ballet what it was. But so was he, picking at notes and bars to match her until he found a rhythm they both liked. 

Eventually he mastered it, the notes starting slow as she pirouetted and and leaped, kicking her feet out as she glided gracefully across the snow and ice. It wasn’t perfect. The piece grew too fast and she struggled to keep up. Her shoes were too cumbersome and she just avoided pointe completely. But as his playing built to a lonely powerful climax she threw back her head and smiled, leaping through a tour jete with reckless abandon that may have broken her ankle if she had slipped. At this moment it hardly mattered to her. 

Sensing the end of the piece she spun in a Chaine, letting the repetitive turns build with the music moving faster and faster as she circled across the stage, struggling to keep her balance. Just as the last note fell her body gave up, slumping where she stood before she could so much as form an ending turn out. 

“Hermione!”

She laughed as her head spun, staring up at the slow flaked sheet of darkness with a childlike wonder. Her chest burned at the cold air and the already accumulating snow stuck to her curls and melted on her back. She could feel her legs itch with the muscle memory reminding her that she was doing it  _ all wrong. _

It was marvelous. She hadn’t danced like that since the day Mistress McGonagall appeared in the rundown studio frowning at her overweight ballet instructor.

Fred kneeled next to her, worry leaking into his expression, just as a muted applause echoed around them. He glanced around in confusion, taking in the rooftop, devoid of an audience.

“They’re clapping for you,” she said, her voice soft and breathless. 

He glanced back at her and laughed, running his bow across the strings in a jaunty tune. The applause deepened, leaking through windows and glass to display gratitude for a moment of sound in a sea of nothingness. 

He pulled the violin tight against his chest, rolling onto his back next to her as they stared at the falling snow. Around them, new instruments picked up the idea, various pieces streaming from different windows. None of it fit and was closer to cacophony and chaos more than music but it was something special nonetheless. 

When she started to shiver he laced his fingers into hers with a tight smile. He pulled her to her feet, brushing a kiss on her near frozen lips with his breath searing across her skin in warm clouds.

“It should have been for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Magnum opus:  
> The master piece of an artist's career. The best of the best. The end game. Fin.
> 
> Demi-Plie  
> A knees halfway bent position with arms out that usually precedes a jump.
> 
> Pirouette  
> A spin on one foot with a the other foot touching the knee.
> 
> Pointe  
> Almost all classical ballet is done on pointe at some point. It is when the ballet dancer goes up on their tip toes then does impossible feats of human strength and conditioning.
> 
> tour jete  
> A high graceful leap in which the dancer spins mid air.
> 
> Chaine:  
> repetitive tight turns, usually in an oval or to a particular spot on stage.


	9. Words, Hands, Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nearly done.
> 
> Get Hype.

Contrary to Fred's earlier promises, when they fell into bed afterwards he was heartbreakingly slow and tender. She knew what it was but she didn’t want to put a label on it. It took two to dance that piece and she just couldn’t admit that.

Instead she tried to make him understand with the waves of her body and the gentle kisses and touches that let him know she cared. She hoped he could feel the way she wished it were different when she held him tight against her chest afterwards, memorizing the feeling of her fingers in his hair and his tongue on her neck.

“You haven’t smoked since you got here,” she hummed when the moment was passing into something a bit too essential for comfort.

“Not true. I smoked right when I got here.”

“Ass.” 

She swatted lightly at his back. He pushed up from her chest with a stretch and she watched the way his body moved in response. He was so fucking beautiful.

“Do you need to?" she asked. "I hate it but I don’t want you having a mental breakdown from withdrawal.” 

“Hmm?” he questioned, shaking loose his shoulders. “Oh, no. I don’t actually smoke.”

“What?!?” she hissed, glaring at him and pulling the covers to her chest. 

She didn’t know why. It was a weak punishment at best and the amusement that danced across his lips seemed to agree.

“Have you _ever_ seen me with a cigarette?”

“You lit one in my bed!”

“And that would have been the rare exception. I started carrying a box around because Lee said it was an ‘important part of the aesthetic’. I had forgotten they were in my pocket until I was trying not to think about you on your knees in front of me.”

She kicked him in the thigh and he fell back over her pinning down her arms when she swatted at him.

“So violent.”

“Told you,” she gnashed her teeth at the air just as he leaned back.

“So you did. But I always live for a bit of danger.”

She loved the easy way they flirted. He gave out smiles like dandelions, sharing every bit of himself without pause for the consequences. She had never known someone to inspire so much happiness in others.

“So then why didn’t you just put it out when I asked?”

“Well…” His eyes shifted deviously before he dipped down as if he was telling her a secret. “You started touching all over me and I just couldn’t help myself.”

She let her heart melt against him, pulling him to her chest and kissing him as if it were the last time she ever would. It basically was anyway. When he settled back next to her, staring up at the ceiling with a bittersweet smile on his face she knew he was thinking the same thing.

“What did George want?”

“Hm?”

“George?” 

“Oh, you mean before my completely insane, cabin-fever fueled emotional outburst?” 

“Yes,” she laughed.

“Apparently some big name from LA got a hold of Lee. He wants to come to our next show with some friends.”

Hermione smiled to herself, silently thanking Theodore Nott and his tendency to drink and post every second of his life to social media.

“That’s amazing Fred. It sounds like it could be a big break for you.”

“Eh, I don’t buy it. That kind of thing doesn’t just happen you know. I’ll still play the show of course, but I doubt it’s legit.”

“Don’t be so sure. You all are amazing and I am sure you’ll get there… if given the opportunity.”

“I would have never thought the ballerina would be the one to have blind faith in my punk band,” he joked.

“The world is funny in that way.”

He agreed and they spent the rest of the night telling stories about nothing and just touching each other. Sometimes it went somewhere but most of it was just spent lying in each other’s arms and ignoring the coming day. At some point, the snow finally stopped and the clouds cleared enough that they could see the moon shining through her window. She was fighting off sleep, her back curled against his chest with her wrapped tightly around his.

“You are beautiful in the moonlight, did you know that?” he whispered.

“Hmm, I didn’t.”

“I wish we could stay like this.” He kissed her neck, pulling her tightly against him.

“Me too.” It slipped out before she could stop it, her voice small and pained.

“But we can’t.” There wasn’t a question this time and the realization lanced through her like a shard of ice in her heart.

“I’m sorry, Fred.”

“Me too Doll, me too.” He nuzzled into her hair, inhaling deeply. “What do you say to one last memory, before we have to go back?”

She, of course, agreed; too tired to do anything other than let her body feel the way it wanted to as everything from the past few days spilled out of her. His eyes glowed in the moonlight, begging for her to understand what she wouldn’t let him voice. He didn’t say anything when she started to cry but he didn’t tell her to stop either. 

He kissed away the tears as their bodies moved as one, trying desperately to convince themselves that this wasn’t anything special. That the feelings would fade and they could go back to their lives without feeling like part of them was missing.

They finished with a flurry of kisses, still pressed against each other long after their pulses had stopped racing and boney hips and ribs dug into the soft skin of one another. He finally fell asleep with his lips pressed against hers, tears that could have belonged to either of them still wet on his cheeks.

“I’m not worthy of you Fred Weasley. Not by half.”

She loathed to fall asleep. Sleep would mean the next day came all the quicker. But she was helpless when surrounded by him. So she let the rhythm of his heart lull her into oblivion.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000

They woke to the sound of the gentle strums of an acoustic guitar and a keening male voice, singing of love and loss in a language neither of them spoke well enough to understand. He still held her close, even though his touches were now awkward and unnatural.

“Apparently the power is back on,” she said.

“Your neighbor is a woman of variety,” he chuckled his hands trailing along her spine.

“You called her a bitch not two days ago.”

“Well, today I feel more empathetic,” he sighed as she started to shift, burying his face into her hair. “If we don’t leave the bed I don’t have to go.”

She smiled sadly, staring out the window as the sun streamed in. It was warm against her skin, an unwelcome heat in their world contained by a snow globe of ice.

Eventually they did have to get up, to use the bathroom and start breakfast. Neither of them touched the other after exiting the bed. It still felt too raw, too wrong. Like they had outgrown a piece of clothing but couldn’t bear to throw it away. 

They had a breakfast of coffee and Hermione’s last egg split between them.

“I could bring some food by later if the stores are open,” Fred suggested shrugging on his coat. “I think I owe you for feeding me for three days.”

The snow plows blew through the wider streets around the neighborhood but it would be a while yet before they cleared the small side roads. Already she could hear the sounds of shovels scraping outside and people moving around. She hoped the doorman had been able to find the shovel Fred had _said_ he returned.

“No, it’s okay. I need to get out of here anyway. Going a bit crazy.”

That and she didn’t want to face the memories yet.

“I just hope Angelina and George are clothed. That couch has seen enough of my brother to mentally scar a small nation. No need to add me to the injury list.” He moved his violin case from one hand to the other, not yet ready to leave but having no reason to stay.

“Well thanks Do-...Hermione.” He cleared his throat and she silenced the whine that tried to slip from her throat. “Putting me up like this was really nice of you. I’m sure it was a pain.”

“No trouble at all Fred. Just remember to get a spare key for next time.”

“Right. Right.” He opened the door, rubbing the back of his head and changing one last glance at her. There was a smile on his face but it was brittle and broken. “Well… one last kiss for the road?”

“Can we stop at one?” she asked.

“Probably not.” He shrugged and stepped out into the hallway. She could hear his heart wailing, even as he dragged his body away from her. “See you later, Hermione.”

“Bye.” 

The door clicked shut and she stared at it for what felt like hours, the sounds of the city slowly coming alive and sinking in through her windows. For a few days the city did sleep, and it felt like nothing would ever be the same again.

She sighed regretfully, crossing her arms over her body and took one last look at the door before shoving all those sticky emotions somewhere deep in the back of her mind.

000000000000000000000000000000000

Four days later she was cursing every fucking decision in her life that had lead to her dancing with Draco Malfoy. She groaned as she panted on the floor staring up at the ceiling. He appeared over her with an exaggerated eye roll.

“Is nap time over yet, Granger? I would like to get some actual rehearsal in.”

Her body was angry and out of condition. Even after easing back into it she was still bitterly behind and Malfoy made a point to remind her of that fact every chance he got.

“Fuck off. I didn’t exactly have room to be doing grand jetes in my apartment for the past week.”

“I neglect to see how that is my problem.” 

Still he held out an arm to her, hauling her up to a stand as the other dancers still stumbled around like newly born deer. McGonagall was shaking her head at a girl on the barre, hiking the dancer's leg higher as she corrected her in a heavy Scottish brogue.

Hermione stretched out her arms, following Malfoy back into position. The theater didn’t wait and they had a mere four weeks before the spring performances began. She nodded to one of the girls by the stereo before settling into position, Malfoy’s hands hovering lightly around her waist. The first few bars of the Sacrificial Dance came dripping out of the speakers. It was dark and brooding as she moved, relying on Malfoy to steady her as she struggled to balance against him. 

A serene smile and a look of adoration blended across his features giving the impression of a man in love as he guided her to her death. For a long time, she had thought that Malfoy was an amazing actor. It would always freak her out with how quickly his expressions would shift as soon as the music started and ended. 

Now after seeing the way Fred looked at her she couldn’t help but notice the hollowness behind his eyes and the too perfect upturn of his lips. It was a pale imitation of the real thing. 

Eventually he stepped away, allowing her to pirouette in tight circles again and again until she lowered herself to the floor in a grand, sweeping death. The music faded out, the sounds of various other routines echoing around them.

“Better. But your head still isn’t in the game.” He pulled her up again. 

“Just a bit jumbled from the days off. I’ll pull it together.”

“And I supposed it has nothing to do with that derelict over in the doorway?”

Hermione spun wildly, her soft shoes slipping at the unusual movement. Malfoy caught her waist as she stumbled. Say what you will about him, but Malfoy had never let her fall.

“Take five and come back to me as something more useful.”

She barely heard Malfoy as she rose up on pointe, taking fluttering steps toward the amused redhead and hoping that if Mistress McGonagall saw her that she would think she was still practicing. She pulled him into the hall by his shirt.

“You look really cute in that outfit, I am disappointed there is no tutu though.”

“Tutu’s are only for performances.” Hermione still brushed at the skirt of her unitard. “How did you get back here? You aren’t even a student anymore.”

“You classical types are so straight laced. I just jumped the welcome counter.”

“You can’t do that!” She failed to fight down the smile pulling at her lips.

“Eh, I am a delinquent dropout now. I can do whatever I want.” His hand ghosted across her bare back sending a shiver down her back. “Well, almost anything.”

Hermione stepped back after a second, removing his skin from hers. She didn’t look at his face, unable to stand whatever heartbroken look she would see.

“Did you need something?” she asked.

“I just wanted to tell you that the LA type I told you about was coming to our show tonight. I was hoping you could too… just for good luck?”

“You know, phones exist for a reason.”

“Well, I would have texted you but as it turns out my battery did freeze.”

The urge to smile was weak. Every part of her screamed to throw her arms around him; at the very least congratulate him and agree to go like she would have done a few weeks ago. But that’s not what they were anymore.

“I don’t think I can. We’re horribly behind after that snow storm and Malfoy will probably insist on practicing at least until ten.”

“I get it," he said. "Just thought I would offer.” 

Fred stood silently until she was forced to look at him. God he looked good, even with the dark rings under his eyes that matched hers. His hands were shoved in his pockets, probably so he would keep them to himself. He looked totally out of place in the regal sunlit studio, clad in ripped jeans and a leather jacket.

“Granger?” Malfoy popped his head out of the studio and frowned. “If you are done socializing I would like to see if you’ve become any less of a hippo than five minutes ago.” 

Fred didn’t turn as his body tensed, anger rolling through his shoulders as he clenched his jaw.

“Malfoy.”

“Weasley.” 

Malfoy barely glanced at the redhead before his eyes flicked back to hers. It belatedly occurred he was actually checking in on her. She shook her head once and he nodded.

“I’ll be back in a few. You’ll have to suffer a few more minutes looking at yourself in the mirror.”

“Maybe it will be enough to get me through the rest of the day after having to dance with you,” Malfoy scoffed before he disappeared back into the room, latching the door behind him.

“He shouldn’t talk to you like that,” Fred spat, glaring at the floor.

“It’s Malfoy. It’s what he does. Besides he's right, I’m clumsy and out of practice.”

“No,” Fred corrected harshly, his eyes flicking up to shine at her. “You were beautiful.”

“Fred… I can’t-”

“I can never be like that with you can I?”

“What?” Hermione questioned as his eyes shot back to the floor. “You mean dancing? Like ballet? I mean… it would take you ten years to catch up and as much as I hate to say it, Malfoy has an unfortunate amount of talent and...”

She trailed off when she noticed his hands fisted in his pockets. He squeezed them once and then released the tension, that cracked smile on his face.

“Right. Well, if you happen to slip away we will be at the Badger’s Hole starting at nine.”

“I won’t-”

“Later, Hermione.” 

He turned away and glided down the hall, seemingly unphased by the world. She wished she would have kissed him before he left her apartment, that one last time. She wanted one decent goodbye to look back on. Not these painful stilted conversations that felt like she was reopening an old wound.

Hermione took a deep breath to center herself before walking back to the door. When she opened it, Malfoy was waiting to her left. He ran his eyes over her exactly once before frowning.

“You alright?”

“Fine. Let’s try again.”

“If you trod on my feet because you are distract-”

“Again Malfoy,” she snapped, letting her emotions fade completely from her body as she took the starting position. After a moment he pushed off the wall, snapping at the girl by the stereo to start the music.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Barre:
> 
> It's a ballet bar, like the stick they lean on to stretch and hone balance. Freaking frenchness. They add 'e's onto everything


	10. Empty Apartment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> POS:  
> Point of sale System: Basically the little computer that runs a cash register
> 
> Also, too hype, had to post now!

She went for hours, regaining the sense of her body as she poured everything she had into the movements. Malfoy forced her to break three times even though she hadn’t made any mistakes. Mistress McGonagall gave her a sour look at the lack of a serene smile on her face but when Hermione snapped back that she was being murdered in the scene and wouldn’t be very serene, the woman just frowned and turned toward another dancer.

Malfoy finally forced her to stop at eight forty-five. They had been practicing at that point for over thirteen hours and her muscles were twitching wildly but she was still not done. Malfoy collapsed on an empty bench, every other student having filtered away hours ago.

“Okay, enough,” he sighed.

“Again.”

“No! No more agains. No more run throughs, or repeats, or lifts. I’m exhausted and one of us is going to get hurt.”

“Fine. I will keep going on my own.”  She moved toward the stereo intending to run it from the top when Malfoy’s hand closed around her wrist.

“Stop it Granger. If you dance yourself to death I will have to train a new partner.”

“Fuck off, Malfoy.”

“Look I know it’s our ‘thing’ to hiss and snap at each other but don’t try to push your problems off on me. I’ve got enough of my own.”

“You don’t-”

“You looked like a kid in a candy store with no money out in that hallway. An especially strange fact considering that Weasley seemed to be fucking you with his eyes," Malfoy scowled. "though I cannot imagine the appeal.”

“You don’t know shit,” she scoffed.

“I know The Last Laugh is playing at the Badger’s hole tonight.”

“You were eavesdropping?!?”

“Theo texted me. Apparently he’s quite thrilled with his meddling." He stared at her until she looked away and pulled her hand free. "I couldn’t care less.”

“Since when did you become a lonely old housewife.”

“I dance ballet. I was born one.” Malfoy stood, pulling on a pair of jeans over his tights with a tightly woven sweater. No sweats and hoodies for him. “Don’t mistake it for compassion, Granger. I just need to know if you are going to fall off the deep end before we perform.”

“You are a dick Malfoy.”

“And you are having problems with one so listen up." he snapped. "Go to the stupid show. When he’s done playing drag him in back and screw him against the speakers then be done with it. Ballet has lost worse dancers than you to better men than Twin Weasley.”

“His name is Fred,” she snapped automatically. Malfoy just raised an eyebrow and shrugged on his jacket.

“Who gives a fuck?”

She bit back her defense. Malfoy didn’t care to hear it and it wasn’t her place to be defending Fred to anyone. He left the room without another word. 

Hermione ran through the routine twice more before considering it a wash. It was too difficult not to imagine a different set of strings, echoing in the room of her too small apartment with notes that were just slightly off but still somehow better. 

The clock read 9:10. The Badger’s Hole was on the other side of Manhattan. If the trains were running she could get there in twenty minutes and catch the last few songs. She imagined that cracked smile on his face while he played, his finger tripping and slow compared to what they should be because he was too busy thinking about what wasn't to be... 

It would hurt, and she would be worse for it. But her presence might make a difference.

Decision made, she threw on her coat and sweats, painfully aware that she was not dressed for going out. Hermione skidded out the door on the dirty slush that was pristine white snow not three days ago. She dove through the subway, barely swiping her card in time to slip onto the train as it pulled away. 

Hermione pulled her hair out of its bun, trying to claw it back into a serviceable braid. When she exited at Canal Street, she braved the slick sidewalks for the two blocks it took to get to the Badger’s Hole. Despite the weather, people were lined up outside, waiting for admission well after the show had started.

She felt her hope die, as she stared at the group of people. Everyone must just be desperate for some weekend entertainment after being snowed in.

“Hermione?”

Her head snapped to attention as Romilda Vane cooed from near the front of the line. Hermione never liked the contemporary dancer. She had a habit of involving herself in other people's relationships, welcomed or not.

“Oh hey.”

“Oooo. Pushed to the back of the line then? Shame.”

“I wasn’t planning on coming, just got off rehearsal early.”

“Early? It’s nearly 9:30 .”

"Yeah, well my friend-" she choked on the word. "Asked me to come watch."

"Wait... as in someone from the band?" Romilda questioned, screwing up her face in doubt.

"Yeah. The guitarist," Hermione snapped defensively. Romilda just laughed.

"Oh yes, the Ballerina and the rockstar. Isn't that hilarious? Could you pick a more doomed-" Hermione was considering ripping the younger dancer's hair out when she was cut off.

“Hold on.” The large bouncer glanced down at his paper and frowned, looking at his list and then Hermione. “You the ballerina?”

“I’m  _ a _ ballerina.”

“I got a ballerina on the must let in list.” He glanced down at her outfit and smiled. “You look like one.”

“She looks like shit,” Romilda snapped. The bouncer turned to her with a long suffering grimace on his face. 

“My sister used to dance and she would come home exactly like that three nights a week. Sweaty and swearing up a storm...Head on in.”

If Hermione were more petty, or less tired she may have flaunted past the fuming brunette. As it was she merely thanked the bouncer and slipped in the warmth of the building. He directed her to a hidden corridor off to the left.

Very suddenly she found herself shoved backstage, watching The Last Laugh cranking out music to a crazed crowd. Hermione could just make out a partially empty booth near the back with a red velvet rope blocking it off. A gaggle of men watched the stage attentively. She couldn’t tell if they had found what they were looking for. 

All she could focus on was Fred. He and George both played expertly but it was clear to her that his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. When he screamed back vocals into the mic they held a bit too much rage and anguish to just be part of the song. She wondered if she should have come at all. As she turned to leave his eyes snapped over to her, freezing her in her tracks.

The song ended and a wide smile broke out on his face. She gave him a shy wave before he had to jump into the next intro. His shoulders relaxed as he started the opening rift, the passion and adrenaline leaking back into him. George seemed to notice the change in his twin, glancing back to meet her with a questioning look. Hermione shook her head, not sure if he would understand the message or not. It was the least she could do. She stayed for the last few songs, sitting on an unused speaker until she felt the show starting to wrap up. 

With one last look at the roped table she saw the greedy smiles of men in suits who only saw dollar signs. It was a new game Fred played now, but she was willing to bet that he would win.

She slipped away during the last song, feeling like she hadn’t given him enough to make up for what she had taken. He would probably grow to curse the day she followed his music to an abandoned courtyard in the dead of winter. But it was all she had left.

When she descended into the subway Hermione turned off her phone, refusing to look at messages coming through with quiet pings. By the time she fell into bed, her mental exhaustion had far outweighed the physical.

00000000000000000000000

“I said no whip!” Malfoy whined.

“It’s not yours. Don’t complain.”

“You’ll spit in mine.”

“Just drink it Malfoy. If your hands get any bonier my guts will spill onto the stage tomorrow,” she scowled deeply at the blonde across the counter. All around them the thousands of mirrors Tonks had hung up reflected back every shred of sunlight in a bright flare.

“Why are you even working this close to show time? You should be practicing,” Malfoy said as he sipped at the cup.

The first good day of March drifted through the open doorway with a flourish, bringing the sounds of the city into their argument. 

“Some of us have to work to eat,” she said primly.

“Maybe you should eat less and practice more, that way when you inevitably faint from exhaustion you won’t kill me when you land on me,” he responded.

“You can be sure you’ll never find me anywhere close to ‘on you’ Malfoy.”

“As if I would ever lower myself to you. God you hair is so fucking tragic. How on earth did no one ever tell you-”

“I like her hair… Quite a lot actually.” 

They ended their argument by swiveling their faces simultaneously towards the door. Hermione’s breath caught in her throat as she eyed the redhead leaning in the frame. 

The sun looked warm and inviting against his skin with the promise of spring. His hair had finally given up on propriety completely and was tied back at the base of his neck with strands escaping and tucked behind his ears, gleaming a burnished copper. He was wearing a button down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a skinny tie knotted loosely around his neck. Hermione couldn’t help the involuntary sigh that escaped her throat and Malfoy sneered at her.

“You are disgusting.”

“I don’t think your opinion on women is to be trusted, Malfoy. Men maybe, but clearly you couldn’t see a perfect girl if she sat in front of you, trying to feed you whipped cream,” Fred growled as he sauntered in.

“Oh yes. Gay jokes about the danseur. How creative. You caught me. I have been hiding in the closet this whole time under the convincing ruse of ballet. Pay me no mind as I get to paw at beautiful, barely dressed women all day.”

“Fred, that was-” Hermione started to admonish.

“Excepting Granger, of course,” Malfoy added with a smirk.

“You’ve got some nerve, Malfoy,” Fred hissed.

“You’ve got some questionable choices in women, Weasley.”

“Do you really want to take it there Malfoy? Keep in mind I have five brothers and wouldn’t mind a criminal record.”

“Knock it off, the both of you,” Hermione huffed, glaring between the men. 

Fred was still pissed, his eyes locked on Malfoy like he wanted to wring the blonde’s neck. Malfoy for his part, looked merely amused, sipping at what was supposed to be  _ her _ matcha latte. After a moment gray eyes turned to her, a heavy question that was discomforting with its familiarity. 

Whatever he saw on her face, he took as an affirmative. Malfoy sighed dramatically and stalked toward the back of the shop slipping behind the counter. 

“I refuse to watch you two make angsty goo-goo eyes at each other like a set of teenagers. Oh Nymphadora!” he yelled. 

Tonks shot her head out instantly, the bright blue reflecting in the mirrors throughout the shop.

“Don’t call me- Hey you can’t be back here!” 

Malfoy shouldered through the door, slamming it shut behind him while Hermione grumbled.

“Why do we even have the fucking counter if people can just waltz behind it?”

“Put up an electric fence?” Fred suggested. She turned her glare on him.

“That was out of line.”

“So was he,” Fred shrugged.

“Yeah but that’s our thing. He’s rude, I’m a bitch. We dance wonderfully together. It works.”

Fred’s shoulders tensed for a moment and she suddenly remembered why they were both there. She turned towards the cash register.

“What do you want?”

“You know what I drink, Hermione.”

“Chai latte?” she questioned even as she added the vanilla syrup to his cup.

“Your phone stopped working?” Fred asked.

“Nope,” she answered tersely.

“I thought not, considering both Ron and Ginny’s messages seem to get through but  _ somehow _ mine and George’s don’t.”

“How strange.” 

She set about steaming his milk, her anger playing off his, even though she wasn’t sure what she was angry about.

“Why in the fuck did you leave?” he asked, his voice carefully even.

“Leave what?”

“Don’t do that Hermione. Stupid is a bad look on you.”

She slammed down the foamed milk a bit harder than necessary to tap out the bubbles.

“On that lovely note.” She tamped down the shot and yanked it into the machine before turning back to the POS while it poured. “$4.50 please.”

He smacked a five on the counter and she threw it into the cash register not caring where it landed. She turned to face the machine, only to be foiled when hundreds of mirrors reflected him back at all angles. His face was pulled into a scowl and anger broiled just under his skin. It felt wrong to her. 

“You just left. You didn’t stop me that day, but then you showed up at the show and I-”

“I had things to do,” Hermione interrupted.

“More important things than us?”

“There is no _us_ ,” she snapped, adding the shot to the to-go cup. "What do you want from me Fred?"

“The fucking truth.” 

His eyes met hers in the glass and they softened immediately. She looked away, pouring the milk into it without bothering with a design.

“I don't know what to tell you," she said flatly. "I came to your show because I got off of rehearsal early. I left during the very last song to avoid the crowds. I’m sorry if you didn’t like that but I had work the next morning.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

“I don’t,” she said.

“You do.”

“What do you want me to say?” Hermione questioned, slamming the paper cup on the counter hard enough that the lid popped off.

“I want you to tell me that you missed me!" Fred shouted. "That you came because it was me who asked you! I want you to acknowledge that I am fucking someone to you!”

“You-”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Hermione! I-”

“Don’t,” she hissed. 

Fred fell silent, narrowing his eyes at her. He glanced down, grabbing her hand before she could move it away and spilling his drink all over the counter in a wave of sweet smelling caffeine.

“I fucking love you Hermione and-

“Stop!”

“Whether or not you admit it, I know you love me too.”

“I don’t!” she shouted, trying to pull her hand away from his grip. “And you don’t. That would be ridiculous. You spent a few days locked in a matchbox apartment having sex with me. That’s not love.”

“Say’s who!”

“Logic!” she cried.

“Screw logic. We’re artists. We love easily, blindly, and however we fucking please.”

“Three day’s isn’t enough time. It’s irrational to think otherwise.” 

“Yeah, well we aren’t like everyone else," Fred pleaded. "We break the bounds, we’re different.”

“Said every failed couple ever,” she hissed, her anger slipping away as she blinked away tears. “We’re standing on the edge of disaster and you are trying to make me dance.”

“Or we’re one leap of faith away from a miracle and I want you to take a fucking chance and jump!”

“It won’t work!”

“But what if it does?” His eyes softened and her heart keened, wanting nothing more than to give in.

“But what if it doesn’t?”

“Then it will make for good fucking art!” 

He panted as he leaned over the counter, coffee splashed on his shirt and his eyes blazing. She stared at him, unable to form words even as she started to calm. For all of his refusal to release it, he still held her hand delicately, just as softly as that very first night. When he spoke, he used the same soft tone that had made her start falling for him that day on the fire escape.

“I just… I’m better with you. I want to fight for this… for us. And you aren’t letting me.”

“There’s nothing for us Fred.” She tried to look anywhere else, only to see the fractured reflections all staring back at her.

“Because you won’t let there be.”

“because there can’t be,” she corrected.

“Why in the hell not?” 

“I already told you-”

“Dance?" His voice was deadly calm. "That’s it? Dance and work and nothing else?” 

“Nothing else? You say it like there  _ is _ anything else.”

He finally released her hand to drag both of his down his face. She preferred him mad. When he was angry and fighting she could handle it. But all the Weasley tempers were short lived and when they burned out only the words were left behind.  Fred continued to stare at the ceiling, fingertips resting on his jaw. She had kissed her way up that jaw multiple times, thinking of nothing but remembering how he tasted. That memory cut through her like a knife now.

“We signed the band.”

She blinked trying to suss out the sudden topic change.

“What?”

He looked back at her and his eyes were so hopeful and honest that she could barely choke down a swallow as she cradled her hand against her chest.

“A record deal. We signed the papers today.”

“That’s… great,” she stumbled out the words. “Wonderful! You must be so pro-”

“I can take care of you now.”

His voice was like a jackhammer against her heart, throwing it out of rhythm. She had grown used to his calming dulcet baritone wrapping around her until her body relaxed. It called to her and she never wanted to stop hearing it. How much the world could change in three days.

“I don’t-”

“You could drop out,” he said softly, even as Hermione baulked.

“You cannot ask me to give up-”

“Never,” he interrupted with a bit more venom than he probably intended. “I would  _ never _ ask you to give up dancing any more than you would ask me to give up playing and don’t you  _ ever _ imply that I would.”

“Then what would-”

“You could come with us. Start fresh in L.A. You are so fucking talented, Hermione. You could turn the whole city on it’s head with just one sweep of your pointe shoes.”

“Talent isn’t enough-”

“No. You need luck and connections right?” he questioned. “Isn’t that jazz dancer you used to hang around with out there now. Someone told me he was pretty high up. Maybe you could-”

“No, Fred,” she interrupted, unable to hear anymore. He made too good of a point, too sweet of an offer.

“No what? No to dropping out? Fine you can stay here until you finish school and I can just fly out. We could-”

“No to all of it.” 

“I-… what?”

The clearly confused look on his face made her feel like she was pulling off his fingernails and then dumping battery acid on his skin for good measure. He genuinely thought she would do it. He had never considered that she would say no. She stared down at the coffee slowly dripping onto the floor.

“I won’t do it, Fred... You need to go. You need to be present and work hard to get where you deserve to be. I can’t come with you. I can’t date you. I can’t love you. I have my own path to follow and you need to let me walk it.”

“But-”

“Please," she choked out. "This is already soul wrenching as is… I think it would be best if you left.”

There was only the sounds of the city filtering through the deceptively nice day. The world spun by around her, people living their lives as if she weren’t drowning right in front of them. She had never felt more betrayed by New York in her life. 

Hermione wished she had the strength to pull away when his calloused fingers rested against her chin. They made art and played until they bled and knew the ways to make her body sing. Still, they touched her so softly like holding her there was his greatest masterpiece. His voice shook, dripping in torment.

“Could you at least look at me while you rip my heart out?”

She allowed him this, fully aware that tears were spilling from her eyes. His own were misty and his other hand trailed down to run over the last remnants of polish on her nails that she couldn’t bear to take off. When his lips moved she had to stare at her own reflection of misery over his shoulder.

“I had to try.”

“You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t,” she whispered back watching her own lips barely move.

“Always the hard way with me, right?”

“Right.”

“It didn't pan out this time.” His voice cracked and she was barely holding it together. “Promise me that you’ll come find me if you change your mind?”

“You don’t mean-”

“Don’t tell me what I mean,” he snapped. “This is it for me. I was gone the day I saw you dance the Nutcracker, I just didn’t know it yet.”

“Fred...”

“Promise me.” 

She forced herself to look at him and wished that she hadn’t. If desolation were a color, it would be the exact shade of Fred Weasley’s eyes.

“Alright. I promise.”

He smiled sadly, his eyes slowly locking up his emotions until it was almost believable. He pulled her closer for one chaste kiss before breaking away.

“I guess I’ll just take what you have to give.”

She bit back a sob as she watched him turn towards the door. There was no hesitation and she realized she was going to watch him walk away again. That as much as this hurt now it was for the best, before it all got even worse. The statement was toneless even to her own ears. 

Fred didn’t look back, he just melded into the sun with the flow of too many people that made up the streets of New York. And just like that, he was gone and she was just another heartbroken girl in a city of millions.

She didn’t know how long she stood there, staring at the people walking by. When she finally broke away it was to the sound of Malfoy pulling a stack of napkins in from the dispenser and bending down to sop up the spilled coffee.

“I chose ballet,” she told him even as she grabbed a towel to clean off the counter.

“I knew you would.”

“How?” she asked, hating that he saw her this way but unable to pretend for him. It felt like someone should be there as everything she was bled out onto the floor.

“Like always calls to like.” Malfoy shrugged, giving her a look that was so understanding that she flinched. “If it helps, I made the same choice.”


	11. Anywhere But Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! Oh god, I'm getting emotional. Well it was a wonderful wreaking all of your days. I appreciate the support and kind words/ screaming.
> 
> I would ask that you bookmark and recommend to your friends. I posted this all so quickly it will likely get buried before anyone ever sees it.
> 
> I'm glad I could make you all feel something in my little non-magical world.
> 
> Love strongly, freely, and whoever you damn well please. 
> 
> Goodbye!

Malfoy got her through the Rite of Spring but she didn’t remember any of it. Even her worst critic, Rita Skeeter, could only remark that she looked like she had gained weight (she hadn’t). They moved onto the next show in a blur, a collaboration of Midsummer’s Night Dream that would be performed just before the seniors left. She was offered the role of Tatiana, even though she showed up late to the audition, Malfoy dragging her from the rehearsal room where she was just performing silent steps to a song that had only ever been played for her.

Hermione danced it perfectly and to much critical acclaim. Only Malfoy and Mistress McGonagall seemed to realize that she was a ghost of what she once was; half of her soul on the other side of the country, hopefully having already forgotten about her.

Over time she came back to herself, little by little. She threw herself back into dance but this time with the rigorous attention it demanded. She had almost forgotten about all of it entirely, until the day a girl in the studio turned on the radio by accident.

A familiar set of violin chords that only had been heard once, on the rooftop in the Bronx in the middle of a black out, floated among screaming guitar strings and chaotic drum beats. Malfoy said nothing as she cried silently. He danced with her anyway, snapping at anyone who tried to tried to interfere. At the end of rehearsal, he pulled her into his family's car and took them through the city. He dropped her on Harry’s doorstep, barely waiting for the door to crack before turning on heel and disappearing.

Harry held her when she listened to the song, Ginny painting her nails as she sobbed. It was a song about the death of a city, noting its fall from it’s golden age into a weak shadow of what it once was. She knew Lee would have probably written the lyrics but she was at least grateful it wasn’t a love song. Still, she hated that it was no longer hers alone.

Harry and Gin didn’t truly understand, even when she tried to explain it to them. It wasn’t the briefness of their relationship, Harry said he could see that it was something special the moment he had swung open the door to her apartment. But, in their eyes, if she had truly loved him that much she would have gone with him. They tried to support her the best they could, but it just made her feel more alone.

Hermione spent her first summer off since she was fourteen. She returned to her parents for awhile before discovering that absolutely nothing in her small mid-western town had changed in the slightest. Her parents were loving and kind but could even begin to grasp the situation, nodding along with confused looks on their face. On the third night at three in the morning, she realized that she didn’t even fit in at her own house anymore. She flew back to JFK the next day, not sure of where to go... She didn't want to go back to her apartment; it was too easy to hear the ghost of strings dancing through the air.

In the end, Draco picked her up from the airport and drove them to Coney Island where they got way too trashed and tripped down the boardwalk together before crashing at a posh bed and breakfast. That night she told him the story he had half overheard and he showed her the shitty snake and skull tattoo he got when he was sixteen and a rebel.

There wasn’t much of a conversation about it when he took her back to his townhouse or when the three totes that made up her apartment appeared there the next day. She got her security deposit in the mail and that was it. She would never see that small room where she left her heart ever again.

After that point it got easier. She was away from everything that reminded her of him and Malfoy was the perfect gentleman. He practiced with her in the impressive studio in his basement and made sure that she ate enough to survive.

They danced whatever they felt like, sometimes working on new pieces or just revisiting old ones. He didn’t push her to get better or complain when she brought home liquor that burned their noses before it even touching their mouths. 

Draco dragged her out with his friends, clearly telling them just enough that they didn’t pry as to why she was there in the first place. Pansy started a fight when she found out they were living together, resulting in an explosive screaming match between her and Draco followed by loud make up sex that caused Hermione to take refuge in Central Park for the night. When Theo returned for a quick visit, he took one look at her and apologized. Of course she told him that there was nothing to forgive. 

Harry and Ron begrudgingly accepted the new arrangement, though they didn’t like how Draco still spoke to her and they could never quite figure out the dynamic of the complex situation. It didn't really matter, her friends were building their own lives and she saw them less and less.

It probably would have stayed that way, her quiet life of slowly getting better.  All that changed the day Pansy disappeared. Hermione returned home and was welcomed by the sound of breaking glass. She grabbed the one bottle of bottom-barrel wine that Draco hadn't found (and subsequently trashed) and made her way to the basement.'

Glass crunched under her shoe as it scraped against the studio floor. He held out the barre he had ripped off the wall and pushed back his hair in an oddly controlled gesture considering the rain of glass that fell from it. Blood dripped from microscopic cuts across his arms and cheeks, peppered across the smooth paleness like wine on snow. The studio was trashed and the single remaining mirror reflected back the beautifully tragic rage still leaking from his body.

“Do you want to do the last one?” he asked.

Hermione shrugged and handed off the bottle, testing the weight of the barre in her hand as he unscrewed the lid. She faced the last remaining mirror, watching him watch her as he took long pulls from the wine. 

She looked like someone she didn’t recognize, nearly skeletal with dark circles from laying in bed without sleeping. Her hair could at best be described as out of control, only ever washed and then thrown into a bun. 

Hermione realized that somewhere along the line she had forgotten who she was, giving up every bit of herself to a three-day, doomed romance. Her face screwed up into something vicious that she didn’t recognize and she slammed the wood against the last mirror, the shards flying out to cut small slices on her cheeks and hands. The barre dropped with a clatter, the tinkling of glass as the shards resettled pulled tears to her eyes but she didn't know why. Draco handed the bottle back to her silently, looking at the carnage around them.

“Pansy married some eighty-seven-year-old Frenchman today.”

“Richer than sin?” she asked.

Draco nodded before speaking.

“But not richer than me.” 

Hermione handed back the bottle and he drained it.

“I loved her… I still do. But it wasn’t enough. I couldn't love her the way she wanted me to.” Draco looked at her, blood dripping down his cheek from his own self inflicted wounds. She knew they stung, just as her own did... but that pain was nothing compared to the sharp agony in his eyes. She tried not to cringe about the little barbs everyone had all thrown at the pair over the years, all the while totally blind to the undertow just below the surface.

“It would have happened to you both as well... If he hadn’t left,” Draco offered, his face that placid mask that ballerina's were famed for.

“She doesn’t love him,” Hermione offered honestly.

“No, she doesn’t,” he agreed, looking at the pointed shards that had once made up a ballet studio. “But she wouldn't be with me, knowing that she will always come second.”

“Maybe you could-”

“Look around you, Hermione. Rather than getting a plane and going to fight for her, I destroyed a fifty thousand dollar ballet studio and tomorrow I will wake up and call someone to come fix it. By next week we’ll be dancing in it again and Pansy will be on her honeymoon in Crete. This is who we are. We were never meant for people like them.”

She hesitated then nodded, turning towards the stairs. The sound of crunching glass followed her until they both reached the kitchen. She selected one of his good bottles of whiskey and slid it over to him before speaking.

“No more of this. After tonight we’re done with it. All of it.”

“A bit selfish of you isn’t it? You get four months for three days and I get one night for seven years?” Still he nodded, taking a deep pull before sliding it over to her. “Just for tonight. Then we will be done.”

They screamed and sobbed at one another until they were a tangle of limbs, not sure how to comfort the other. Later he asked her to build a fire and he burned everything that reminded him of Pansy. While they watched the flames die she held out a kitchen knife and made him chop off her hair even as he moaned over the predictability of it. More bottles were broken in the kitchen and the cops showed up twice. 

Still when they woke the next morning, nursing nasty hangovers as they prepared for rehearsal; it was done. They cleaned their cuts and taped up their wounds. Every bit of them that was missing was sewn up and shoved into the very back of their minds. 

They took the ballet world by storm that season. Theaters across the world wanted the duo to perform on their stages and promised all sorts of things to get them there. Draco didn’t leave her side when she refused. He didn’t set out on his own or even question why. They simply kept going until they graduated, then took spots with the New York City ballet.

A few months after graduation, Draco was driving them down the Eastern Shoreboard for a weekend away. A love song came on the radio. It only took her a second to identify Lee’s voice. When Draco moved to change the station, something about the song struck Hermione and she batted his hand away from the dial , feeling far too stuck on something so large that should have been so small. 

She told herself that Lee wrote almost all of the songs, and to think otherwise was ridiculous, even if she could pick out Fred’s voice by the low anguish rippling through the backup vocals. By the end of it she had talked herself down. 

It was ridiculous to assume any of it was for her, especially after all this time. Fred loved too easily, smiled too often. Someone else had surely seen him for what a treasure he was.

From then on, she didn’t change the station when The Last Laugh came on. She didn’t leave the store when the familiar tones of a violin played overhead. She didn’t hide away when the band toured in the city. She simply went about her life, dancing with the only other person who really understood her.

Three years later Pansy appeared on their doorstep, her eyes shooting from Draco to Hermione. Draco took Hermione’s hand, the near invisible tremors the only outward indication of his emotions. Finally Pansy sighed, stepping forward with a blank face.

“My husband died.”

When Draco didn’t answer Hermione did.

“We’re sorry to hear that.”

“This isn’t about you, Granger,” Pansy spat. Her gaze locked on Draco and she tossed her short hair back with a flick of her wrist. She had always been a shit ballet dancer, too many hard edges to her movements. 

“Well?” Pansy questioned.

“Well what?” Draco’s voice was that same bored tone he took on when talking to the press. Pansy raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms across her chest.

“Are you done?” 

Hermione felt his hand spasm in hers as he took in the impact of the statement. She released it, knowing that as long as he held onto her he couldn’t answer honestly. He didn’t seem to notice as he stared at Pansy. After a long moment he answered.

“Yeah... I’m done.”

“Good.” Pansy turned toward the house and opened the door before sashaying inside as if she had never left. Draco turned to Hermione, looking so remarkably in love that envy tore at her heart.

“Hermione… I’m so sorry.” He looked so genuinely apologetic that it soothed her own emotions.

She simply shook her head.

“Don’t be. You two have got a lot ahead of you. Paris still bothers me a few times a year. I think it’ll be best if I get out of the city. Try to find what I used to love about all this.”

“But-”

“Draco... Really. Sometimes you just have to make the jump.” They both smiled sadly and she took his hand. “I’ll be okay, promise.”

“What if you aren’t Hermione? For as long as we have known each other you’ve needed me in one way or another. What happens if I’m not there?”

“I’ll survive. It’s lonely at the top. Always has been.”

“I don’t have to.” Draco said in an uncharacteristic fit of nobility. “I could stay with you and we could dance until your body gave out. We could have a child and force it into tutus and pointe shoes as soon as it could walk, just like my parents did.”

“Your parents hate each other,” she countered. “This happens to every generation. I'm sure everyone is sick of hearing the same song.”

He paused, swiping his thumb across the back of her palm. His skin is soft and smooth… and never quite right.

“You’ll come visit?”

“Of course.”

She hugged him tightly, letting her arms wrap around his familiar frame. Lean and strong, not thin at all. No hips that jutted out sharply or flecked scars on his back. His eyes were more gray than blue with a ring of green around the pupil she could only see in the brightness of the sun. Draco was something important to her, but he was a pale replacement for what she truly needed.

“Can I throw out that swill you hide under your bed?”

“You are such an ass!” She smacked his chest lightly but didn’t pull away.

“I’ll miss you so much.”

“I hope you find happiness with her,” she respond.

“I’m _so_ sorry.”

She stepped away with a shrug, a long practiced smile on her face.

“Don’t be. We’re ballerinas. It’s what we do.”

000000000000000000000000000000000000000

The volatile French exploded from backstage as she stretched. The local prima was releasing another slew of rage over being relegated to the role of Gumdrop Fairy to Hermione’s Clara. Perhaps if she had been practicing like Hermione was, instead of just complaining, she wouldn’t have been dethroned so easily.

Hermione had spent the past two years dancing her way across Europe. It was difficult at first, trying to market herself as one half of a duet that no longer existed. Still, she had some offers and she simply selected the performances that most appealed to her regardless of the prestige of the company. After her first season she had her pick of nearly any show across the continent. She never settled down with one company, despite many lucrative offers. She preferred her life of roaming, rehearsing for twelve hours a day and exploring a new city every three months.

This was the first time she had returned to a city. Paris was beautiful and it held nothing but love for her talent. But that was not why she came back. Even as she stretched she could feel the slight twinge of protest in her muscles. Hermione was breaking down, her years of stress, and not enough food or sleep had finally caught up to her. Not to be dire; she could still meet the rigorous requirements of ballet for years to come, but it was starting and Hermione refused to ever give anything but her best. 

She chose the Nutcracker as her swan song, something she hadn’t touched since the season a winter storm gave her a snow globe and trapped her there for years. It felt fitting that she would leave the love of her life to the same ballet where she had gained the one she threw away.

Theo had attended the opening performance weeks ago, meeting her backstage with a warm smile and open arms. The rest of the women in the corps sent envious looks her way when he picked her up and swung her with the grace of their profession. He kissed her cheek warmly, cooing over her costume and the tamed ringlets of her curls.

As usual, he loudly proclaimed his love for her and her dancing, offering her a job for the millionth time in the school he had set up in Los Angeles. Instead of her usual reply she answered ‘maybe’. He nodded his head in response, a sad smile pulling at his lips. They spent the night drunkenly wandering the streets of Paris, while he filled her in on the news she had missed.

Draco and Pansy’s first child hopped out of the womb in a perfect plie already dressed in tights and ballet slippers. She was just learning to walk and they already had her in classes, cooing over how she was going to be the next great star. 

This personally annoyed Harry as, through some joke of the universe, his and Ginny’s first son had demanded to learn after seeing his Aunt Hermione perform Romeo and Juliet the previous summer when he was four. As it turned out he was phenomenal, even at such a young age. The two families constantly ran into each as they dropped off their children for classes and already Hermione heard whispers of the dance Instructors planning to pair the two for the rest of their natural born lives.

The Rookery was gone. It’s hidden balconies and staircases that went nowhere had been torn down and replaced with a high-rise condominium that destroyed the whole of the street. Luna and Neville broke up years ago but she still got the random postcard from the girl. Usually from places Hermione had never heard of (even though she moved constantly and never gave anyone her address, she still received them).

In a shock to everyone, Ron climbed his way to the top of the NYPD serving as the youngest chief in recorded history. Harry served as his Operation Lieutenant until the birth of his son when Ginny insisted he retire to a safer career. His parent’s aspirations lived on and he picked up their dream of making NYC a livable place for those who needed it. There were whispers of him becoming the next mayor.

Theo left with a promise that she would text him once she had revealed her intentions to the press. She didn’t know for certain where her life would take her but she was tired of traveling. She had been a ballerina for so long she had no idea who she was without it anymore.

Finally feeling limber enough she stood under the bright lights of the stage. 

“Jacque, commençons,” she called out into the darkened room.

The rest of the crew had already gone home after the evening’s performance but the old stage manager usually stayed with her to run through a few songs. He was a fair hand at the piano. Not amazing but enough that she could practice without having to pause and restart a song every time she wanted to go over a piece.

She heard a shuffling up in the balcony and turned her head in confusion. Usually he chose the piano in the pit. Suddenly, a clear dark note sliced through the air, strumming at her heart even as she smiled.

“Espèce de vieille chérie,” she muttered as she settled into the first steps of ‘A Pine Forest in Winter’. He _was_ a a darling.

She danced across the stage performing the expected steps with practiced grace, but in her mind she was dancing in a snow powdered courtyard in too heavy boots and slipping all over the place. As the last notes faded away she was breathless, blinking back tears from her eyes. This was precisely why she didn’t dance this ballet again until the very end. There was just too much tied up in it and it pulled at the frayed strings that held her together.

“Je ne savais pas que tu jouais du violon,” she said to the blackness, questioning his use of the strings. She knew he had played a bit of the viola but the sound was too high to be anything other than a violin. She frowned in confusion as the door to the back of the theater lit up brightly for a moment before shutting as he left. She hoped she hadn’t offended him.

Hermione settled back down, cutting her run through short. She was tired anyway and didn’t feel up to dancing to silence or skipping through songs from her phone. 

Hermione exited the stage and got dressed in her street clothes, catching the end of a very dramatic fit as the Prima threw a vase at the lead dansure’s head. He was no Draco Malfoy but he was a serviceable enough partner and didn’t drop her (in spite of what his costar and lover demanded).

She exited through the back not wanting to interrupt and have the ire drawn on her. She padded through the alleyway and back onto the main street outside the theater. There was a light dusting of snow underfoot that would be gone come morning. Still the flakes made an alluring picture as they fell.

Her heart stopped when the keening edge of a violin broke through the night air. It was far too harsh and punchy to be classical. Even without the stuttered pauses and awkwardly placed notes at the start she would recognize it anywhere. Just like the first time, Hermione knew that she should ignore it. That she should head back to her apartment, grab her dinner from the cafe below it, and go to sleep pretending it was Jacque who was playing for her. But, just like before, her feet moved of her own accord dashing recklessly through the streets and over curbs that were likely to snap her ankles. 

It was a park this time, powdered in white with only lonely street lamps to guide the path through. Fred was under one of them, his red hair catching the light and his case open at his feet. People walked by, tossing the odd euro or two in, totally unaware of the master playing before them.

Hermione drifted forward and watched, long forgotten steps flashing to the forefront of her mind even now. She dare not attempt them here, where others could watch them. It was something only he had ever seen and she held onto that fact for dear life. When the song came to an end Fred removed his chin from the rest, his eyes meeting hers like a lightning strike that caught her in place.

“Hey," His voice was deeper and more well rounded. He had probably gotten the proper training needed for back up vocals when they went to LA. She bet when he hummed in the shower now it was beautiful.

“Hi,” she responded, breathless and shaking.

“So that’s how you catch a wild ballerina,” he joked, setting the violin in the case. When the latches snapped shut she was shaken out of her trance.

“You don’t want us for a pet. We’re temperamental and bite.”

“I know.”

His voice was shot through with a misery so deep that it seemed like there would be no saving it. That he would live the rest of life incapable of a shred of happiness. It was like someone had punched her in the stomach.

“I didn’t know you all were in town,” she said instead.

“Impromptu stop over,” Fred replied, picking up the case and walking closer to her. “George and Angelina got into a fight last night and then decided that instead of having make up sex they wanted to get married. Now we are all on a honeymoon together.”

“That must make for a nightmare of a blanket sharing situation.”

Fred smiled and the sight was enough to pull at that carefully tied ball of emotions buried in the back of her mind. Even after all these years it was still cracked; she had done that.

“I went to your show last night, you’ve always made a beautiful Clara,” he muttered, coming to a stop just short of arm's length.

He held his case over his shoulder, well defined muscles finally filled out properly with enough food and rest. He had kept his hair long, tied back at the base of his neck that now had black inked tattoos climbing up it.

Her heart pinged when she realized he still had that same stupid leather jacket, even though some of the studs had fallen out and the elbows were worn. Still the most noticeable part of him were the crystal blue eyes, the glint of steel still present just like the last time she had seen them.

“I’ve heard the newest single," she said. "It was really good. You should all be proud.”

“Thanks, we are,” he said. 

“Really, Lee has such a way-”

“Actually,” he corrected. “I write most of our ballads.”

Her stomach flipped, not daring to hope. The timing was too good, the setting to perfect. Life was never this fair or kind.

“They’re wonderful. All of them,” she replied honestly.

His eyes never left her and she wouldn’t have been able to tear her gaze from him, even if she suddenly caught fire. They simply stood, the snow falling around them until, as if by magic, everyone else had wandered away from the area. Once again they were inside a perfect little snow globe, seeing only each other.

“So are you done then?” he asked.

Hermione’s heart leapt. She had to wonder if there was a school where lovers of ballerinas learned the script. The Nutcracker run was almost over, just a few more shows and then she would retire. She hadn’t known what she would do, but now the answer was staring her in the face.

“I promised I’d come find you, didn’t I,” she murmured softly. He exhaled deeply, something flashed across his eyes that looked painfully like hope.

“I didn’t wait for you,” he admitted. Like she cared in the slightest. "There were others... but I could never fill that space you left."

“You waited in all the ways that mattered.”

She stepped forward and kissed him, melting against him as her body sang. His lips fit over hers like he had never left, his free arm snaking around her back and pulling her too tightly to his chest.  His tongue greeted hers like a starving man, trying to devour ever bit of her before she could run away again. The strings tying up her mind snapped, releasing years of pent up emotion. That hollow ache in her chest faded as he rushed back into it, filling her wholly until her body burned. When she pulled back for air he rested his forehead against hers, his heart stuttering in time with her own.

“I can’t do this again unless you’re all in, Doll. It nearly killed me the last time.”

“It’s absurd that I still feel like after just three days and six years,” she murmured against his lips.

“We’re New Yorkers. We live to be absurd.” 

He reached his hand up to run across her cheek. The callused surface and sure movements ghosted across her skin and down her neck to rest in her hair. She gazed up into the beautifully open blue eyes pouring everything he had into the one look, as if he could keep her there if he just never looked away. Hell he probably could. Still she whispered it, because she was sure if anyone else heard it would break this impossibly delicate moment.

“I still love you.”

“I never stopped.” He smiled, his grip tightening slightly around her waist as he dropped another chaste kiss against her lips.

“I am _so_ sorry.” Her voice cracked and her eyes watered. It felt like there was absolutely nothing she could do or say that would be worthy of his forgiveness. To make her deserve that soft, loving look after what she had done to them.

He shrugged, a real smile blazing across his lips before he bent down to kiss her in earnest.

“It makes for good art.” 

_ Termina _

  
  
  
  



End file.
